Sea Rat
by Schmo and Sushi
Summary: Complete! Enna ran away from home to escape a past she'd rather forget, and when she's found aboard a ship bound for Narnia, she expects death from its High King. But first Peter's determined to find out what exactly is going on! Pre H&HB. PeterOC.
1. Chapter One

_(A/N: Hello, everyone! It's Sushi again, with another Narnia fanfiction! I hadn't thought about doing another one until I was reading through my old emails, and I had a few PMs and reviews from people saying (however offhandedly it may have been) that I should do another one. And so I will! Hope you all enjoy this newest from Schmo and Sushi!—but remember, only Sushi is writing this. ;)_)

* * *

She clung to the bowsprit with every ounce of strength her failing body could manage, digging her fingernails into the rotting and splintering wood of the weathered horse that led the ship onwards through the rough waves. The carving had been beautiful once, but the steed's bright paint had long worn off, and now, it stared into the darkness with pale, cracked eyes.

How she wished she could be like that unseeing horse—aloof, uncaring, and never tired or hungry. How she wished she could freeze here, to the figurehead of the accursed _Seacharger_, to die and remain forever.

And die is just what she might do, she reminded herself grimly. A fortnight she had spent clinging to the underside of the ship's jutting bowhead, coming up to sit atop the jib boom between night watch and midwatch. Once, she'd clambered up the foremast when the captain's mate wasn't watching, but one night on the tossing Great Sea nearly threw her into the roiling waves below.

But anything was better than remaining on Galma, the island she'd once called home. Sabsestrin had destroyed her life there—turning her sunny, mountainous homeland into a dark, sinister shadow-land, full of evil and hatred.

A frigid wave crashed over the forecastle deck, and she forced a cry to remain, throbbing, in her throat. She was wet, cold, hungry, and sore, and the ropes she had lashed herself to the figurehead chafed horribly against her sun-browned, waterlogged skin. The clothes she'd stolen from Sabsestrin's trunk were stiff with saltwater and offered no shelter from the elements.

Over the roar of the water beneath her, a ghostly, echoing bell sounded from the quarterdeck. One bell…two bells…three bells…four bells…five bells…six bells…seven bells…eight bells. End of the midwatch—four a.m.

She stirred to life, struggling at the salt-stiffened knots. When they came apart, she took a firm hold on the thickest rope and scrambled as quickly as she could to the forepeak. Checking herself as soon as she was balanced atop the thick, jutting beam of wood, she gave the deck a cursory personnel check—all clear. The morning watchman was still below. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped onto the forecastle deck. A moment was all she'd allow herself—just enough to pilfer a sea biscuit and a sip or two of acrid water.

But the barrels were in the galley, directly below her. More than likely, she'd meet a sailor or the cook himself.

_I've done it once, I'll do it again,_ she told herself. Strands of hair from her loose and slapdash plait whipped her face as she leapt down the forecastle ladder and edged to the weathered galley door. The knob turned easily, and the faint light from the lantern swaying from the foremast shrouds revealed two damp barrels just inside the door—

"Halt! Who goes there?"

She froze.

An orange spot appeared from the quarterdeck as the morning watch lifted his lantern. "I said, who goes there?"

Her hands shaking, she cupped them around her mouth and imitated the cry of a Galmanian mew, but the sailor wasn't fooled. His long strides carried him swiftly across the ship's waist towards her.

So she threw caution to the winds and scrambled back up the ladder to the forecastle deck. She'd hurl herself into the waves, if need be.

But there was no time. The watch blew a long blast on his whistle, and the bell rang out from the quarterdeck—everyone would be above deck ere long.

Suddenly, she felt a rough hand on her collar. The fabric tightened across her throat, and she gasped for breath as a corded sailor drew her close to his face.

"We got ourselves a sea rat!" he bellowed finally after inspecting her face, and she became quickly aware of a group of sneering sailors crowding at the capstan. "Throw 'er to the waves, I say!"

A growl of agreement went up from the men.

"What is going on here?"

The sailor released her, and she lost her balance and toppled to the deck, scraping her knuckles against the wood. "We got ourselves a sea rat, Captain, sir," he growled.

"A sea rat, you say?"

She glared up at the captain as he stepped onto the forecastle, trying to mask the weak quivering of her arms as she braced herself against the deck.

"I see," the captain said, folding his hands behind his back. "Mister Fel?"

"Yes, sir."

"How far are we from Archenland?"

"We've been sailin' fer a good month, sir, so I'd say we're 'bout twenty leagues from the coast. Nearly in Narnia, I'd say."

The captain flipped an airy hand. "Throw the she-rat in the cargo hold. There she can wait until we make shore."

The corded sailor took hold of her collar again and hauled her to her feet. "Yes, _sir_!"

She was alternately dragged and shoved across the main deck until she teetered at the brink of the dark, gaping central hatch. Water sloshed around in the blackness below, and she repressed a horrified shudder.

"Git down there, sea rat," the sailor snarled, and she found herself falling down, down, into the bowels of the ship. Then the hatch slammed shut, and she was alone.


	2. Chapter Two

_It's not so terrible down here,_ she told herself as she huddled in the cargo ship's murky, watery hold. Why, Enna Stalresin wasn't supposed to be afraid of anything—her very surname meant 'strong spirit' in the ancient tongue!

Nevertheless, she clutched her knees to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut against the oppressive darkness of the cargo hold. Bilge water lapped at her ankles and dampened Sabsestrin's big, sturdy boots—the ones Enna'd pilfered from his trunk the night before she'd fled—and she was sure she heard the disembodied scratching of rats somewhere in this pit with her. The very thought made her shudder. She almost preferred the cold, treacherous, suicidal position by the figurehead to this abyss of psychological terrors. At least on the bow, she'd had fresh air and sunlight, if not the constant danger of drowning or being crushed under the weight of the ship in the water.

Enna sighed and dropped her head onto her arms. Her plait, though normally unmanageable and dreadfully thick, was stringy with dried salt, and her cheeks smarted with what was surely sun- and windburn. And she was terribly, terribly hungry. Even while lashed to the bow, she'd been able to snitch food and drink when she needed to—but now, as the captain's prisoner, she was completely and utterly ignored. Her pleas for food and water had fallen upon deaf ears.

_Curse that Galmanian fool!_

Enna clenched her hands together until they quivered with the effort. Had she known the _Seac__harger_ wasn't a foreign ship, she'd have never stowed away on it! Aye, and she was attempting to run _away_ from all things Galma—Sabsestrin had ruined it for her. Calormen had seemed a good place to run _to_, but she'd quickly discovered that the ship was headed to somewhere much farther away: _Narnia_. Of course, by then, it had been too late to change her mind, and so she surrendered herself to months of plunging in and out of frigid water; it always seemed to lift her up right before she breathed in, and she was badly shaken even before noon. A lesser girl would have succumbed to the elements long before her.

_You're out of the elements now,_ she chided herself. _Count your blessings._

Safe, if not warm or content. But Enna shuddered to think what would happen once the ship docked. Any day now, if her eavesdropping proved correct. Already, she'd spent nearly a week in the brig.

_Someone let me free_!

Here it was again, that incontestable wave of agitation that made her leap to her feet and pace the entire length of the ship, sometimes over and over. _Wanderlust_, her mother had called it. Of course, that was before Sabsestrin had taken charge of their family…

Enna didn't dare think about it. A shiver of restlessness ran up her spine again, and she got slowly to her feet. But her lack of strength was alarming, and hot prickles of fear raced up her temples as she came to the realization that, try as she may, she just didn't have the energy to go more than a few stumbling steps across the wet, slick floor. Even on her minimal diet of stale water and hardtack, she'd never felt _this_ weak.

Surely, she was starving to death.

Her knees buckled, and Enna collapsed to the floorboards. Hot, angry tears rushed to her eyes, and, despite herself, she began to cry softly, muffling her sniffles against her salt-stiffened sleeve. _Sabsestrin's_ sleeve.

She must have fallen asleep, for suddenly, she found herself pressed against the grimy, barnacled walls. The gentle rocking of the boat had stopped, and footsteps echoed above her, accompanying shouts and—could it be?—the cries of gulls and terns.

_They'd docked._

Enna was fully awake in an instant. Any moment now, they'd come charging down the ladder to take her ashore, where she'd face imprisonment—or worse.

Panic roiled in her stomach at the very thought, but she hadn't the energy to do anything about it. What _was_ there to do, anyway? Begin to wail like a wee babe? Or perhaps flirt with the sailors?

Enna's derisive laugh seemed unnatural in the black, wet hold of the ship. She was too old to cry, but too young to make much of an impression on the old, callous, case-hardened seamen—if they'd even spare her plain features a second glance, that is. Besides—she'd heard stories about girls who did 'innocent flirting' with _those_ types of men…they were the used, worn-out women that now haunted the docks in Galma, preying on the men that bore big stories and even bigger purses. No, Enna decided, death would be preferable over such a profession.

The footsteps overhead stopped abruptly, and Enna froze. Then, suddenly, the hatch was thrown open, and a grizzled, weather-beaten head thrust itself down into the hold. "Ho, sea rat," he called when he saw her. "Time to scurry ashore, eh?"

Enna turned her head toward the wall, hoping with every fiber of her being that the horrible face would disappear. No such luck.

"Destro! Galesh! Our sea rat is havin' a bit o' trouble getting' 'erself out o' the brig!" the head shouted gleefully. "What say you come and help 'er?"

At the head's command, two strapping brutes in stained tunics descended the ladder and hauled her to her feet. The sudden movement made her head spin, and she sagged for a moment against one thick arm. But there was no sympathy whatsoever in their iron grips, and they carted her out of the brig into blazing sunlight. Mews and gulls shrieked over the deck, swooping between the main topgallant and the trysail like fish between fronds of seaweed. But it was the noise that shocked Enna the most: on the dock, scurrying like ants and bees, were hundreds of people, all different sizes, shapes, colors, and races, all shouting (or baying or snoinking) in their own distinct languages. The sky above the green hills beyond the wharf was a pure azure blue that taunted Enna's captivity, and for a brief moment, she felt a faint stirring of wanderlust in her spirit again.

But Destro and Galesh's unyielding grips offered nothing in lieu of hope, and they dragged Enna across the deck and down the gangplank, following in the wake of the ship's captain. The dock's occupiers looked on with faint interest as the small procession went, and Enna couldn't help but stare back at them. Sure, and she must look a sight, dressed in men's clothing and indubitably as weather-beaten as the seamen, but at least _she_ was a human! The Narnians that watched her were all animals or unusual creatures of some kind—horses, dogs, dwarves, birds, sprites, badgers, fauns, and centaurs slowed to watch them pass.

"Excuse me, kind sirs."

Enna looked up as the procession stopped. A tall, ebony-coated centaur stood in their way, his burly arms crossed in front of a sun-browned chest and a narrow-eyed look of suspicion on his face.

"Yes, and what do you want?" the captain snapped.

The centaur twitched his tail impatiently. "Do you have authorization to dock here? Your ship is unfamiliar to my eye."

The captain scoffed. "Of _course_ we have authorization. The _Seac__harger_ is a trade ship from the isle of Galma."

"What are you doing ashore, then, Captain?"

Enna found herself dangling a few inches from the wood of the wharf. _"This_ is why we're here," the captain said brusquely, and Destro shook Enna slightly. "We found her stowed away on the ship. A _sea rat._"

He spat the name with such poison in his tone that Enna involuntarily flinched. _Come now, man,_ she thought, _surely you don't think so of me._ One look at the captain's craggy face, however, and Enna suddenly didn't care if he thought of her as such. Surely she thought so of _him._

The centaur's arms relaxed a bit, and he stepped aside. "Carry on."

A cry of protest wrenched itself from Enna's throat as her captors stepped off of the dock. "Sure, and that's the first I've heard from the she-rat," the captain spat with a cavalier glance in her direction.

"Can easily be resolved, sir," Galesh growled, and Enna fixed him with the darkest look she could manage.

"No need, Galesh, no need," the captain said, looking off to the sea. Enna followed his eyes: a long, mist-shrouded strip of land jutted out into the blue waters, and bright flashes of color flickered every so often from a large, but distant, structure. "The Narnian king shall see to her punishment."

* * *

Pain throbbed behind Enna's eyes, and her mouth was dry as cotton. But still her captors lugged her through a cool corridor, bedecked with ornate tapestries and thick carpets. Never had she seen such finery, but she was so faint that she could hardly spare even a fleeting look. Destro and Galesh pressed against her from either side, squeezing the very life out of her, and if she so much as stumbled, one or the other would give her aching arms a sharp tug. She was beaten, sure and neatly. Such heartache on her part, and for what? Only to meet her end in a foreign country, at the hands of a foreign king? She imagined that this Narnian monarch would be old and palsied, deaf and falling apart, with no compassion for a wretch as she.

Enna forced back a troubled sigh. Long had she entertained the dream that some benevolent old king without an heir would take a liking to her and name her as his sole successor, to take the kingdom upon his death. But never had she imagined that she would indeed meet a king, but as a despicable felon. A common criminal. A _sea rat._

She felt all of her bravado ebbing away none too slowly. When the captain and the seamen stopped at a large set of richly carved oaken doors, she could think of nothing but the pain that awaited her behind them. Her legs wobbled dangerously.

"The kings and queens shall see you now, Captain Minodorus."

The doors swung open, and Enna found herself tripping over smooth flagstones.

"Your majesties," the captain said, sweeping an opulent bow.

"What business do you have here in Cair Paravel?"

Enna chanced a look at the speaker. There were four splendidly dressed young men and women seated in four ornate golden thrones on a raised dais, and numberless strange creatures milled in about the grand throne room. The speaker appeared to be the golden-haired and broad-shouldered young man seated on Enna's left, next to a dark-haired beauty with dark blue eyes. A coal-headed youth with wise bright blue eyes next to the young woman watched Enna with nothing less than boyish inquisitiveness, and a young girl about the same age as Enna's younger sister had her head tilted in a politely curious way.

"Begging your pardon, my liege," the captain said again, "but we found this…_young woman_ stowing away on my trade ship."

"I see," said the golden-haired man.

Enna's legs began to give out as the four regal siblings stared her down. Her head grew light, and if it were not for the seamen on either side of her, she felt sure she would have fainted.

"What is your story, maiden?" the first queen asked.

Suddenly, Galesh and Destro shoved Enna forward. Her head spun as she cast about for an answer, but all she could think about was the weakness that washed over her—her starvation in the ship's hold had finally taken its toll. And then, abruptly, her knees buckled, and she sank to the flagstones, unable to do anything else.

Out of the corner of her fuzzy vision, she noticed the monarchs start from their thrones. Someone lifted her head. But, try as she might, Enna could not bring herself to stir.


	3. Chapter Three

Enna woke feeling stiff and absolutely miserable. The air was thick and stifling, and she clutched at her throat as she lurched to a sitting position. She seemed to be in a short corridor, with tapestries and cressets adorning the walls, and a low rumble of voices was coming from a door to her left.

Panic clawed at her lungs, and she threw the thin covers back. Whoever'd put her in this tiny cot hadn't even bothered to remove her boots. She was still dressed in the thick canvas batwing-sleeved tunic and dark blue trousers she'd had this morning—or was it this evening? She was terribly confused.

Enna shrugged and got to her feet, swaying slightly as her head spun. It wouldn't be too hard to find a ship bound for Calormen, as she was (supposedly) just beyond the harbor. If she could just get out of this castle and back onto the beach…

But first things first. Right now, she was in a foreign country, in a strange castle, in some nondescript corridor, with an empty stomach. Enna groaned and took several steps forward, skirting the closed door and aiming her stumbling feet for the curving staircase at the mouth of the hall. The voices in the adjoining room became clearer as she passed ("We simply cannot ignore the threat of foreign invasion, Your Majesties." "You know, 'threat' is only one letter away from 'treat.'" "Shut up, Ed.") then faded away as she neared the staircase. Bright sunshine streamed in from a window high up on the wall, warming Enna's cheeks as she paused at the foot, contemplating the dangers that quite possibly lay in wait for her at the top.

But she didn't have another chance to dawdle, for the door in the hall swung open, and she launched herself around the first curve with a rapidity that startled her and sent blood pounding in her ears. She pressed herself against the wall, her salty, sloppy plait scraping the cold stones. The voices were drawing nearer:

"…you see what I mean, my liege, of course?"

"Absolutely. Now, if only my royal _brother_ would try to look upon it with some solemnity…"

"Oh, Peter, lighten up."

_"You_ lighten up!"

"But you were just—just—" The speaker broke off in splutters of disbelief.

"Cat got your tongue, Ed?"

"No, see? _Nyah_."

"Oh, that's disgusting."

Enna would've grinned if the blood weren't rushing in her ears. Instead, she scrambled up the staircase in a most unladylike manner, trying to keep to the wall while hurrying as fast as she could. It would not do to be caught snooping around a castle by nobility, not at all…

The staircase seemed to wind up and around forever, and Enna began to feel slightly giddy with vertigo and hungry, nearly falling to her knees after tripping on more than one occasion. But still the voices swirled up to her, nearly on top of her, just around the corner from her hurrying boots—

_"Uff!_"

Enna was brought up short by something very hard and—hairy? She began to tip backwards from the impact, but a clammy, stubby-fingered hand grasped her wrist and yanked her unceremoniously back up onto her feet.

"T-thank you," she stammered, looking at the strange man-goat standing on the step above her.

He stared at her, and she ducked her head and continued scurrying up the steps, feeling her strength returning with the surge of adrenaline from the close encounter.

"Hello, Certus," came one of the voices.

"Good morning, my liege. Er…"

"What is it?"

"Well, King Peter, eh…I just passed a human girl on my way down…"

_I'm not a girl!_ Enna thought fiercely, redoubling her efforts to reach the top of the stairs before she was caught. The replying voices were lost to her ears, drowned out by her own heavy breathing.

At long last, she reached the door and wrenched it open—only to find herself in yet another corridor, lined with closed oak doors. The voices were approaching—their footsteps rang out behind her—and Enna, nearly blind with panic, flung open the nearest door and barely managed to hide herself before the voices came into the hall, and she was able to see their bodies through the crack between the wall and the wood. Two young men, one coal-headed, one golden-haired, and two others, whom she could not see, walked past without sparing her door so much as a glance.

A sigh that was half-sob escaped Enna's throat, and she shut the door softly and turned to see—a centauress, standing amidst piles of pottery and drying herbs, looking at her with wide-eyed surprise.

In that single moment, Enna felt all her courage slip away, and she sank against the door, trying to coax her muscles to carry her away. But her strength had disappeared with her courage, and she could do nothing.

The centauress, who had rosy, wrinkled cheeks and a grey-flecked coat, made a move towards her with a hand out, and Enna flinched involuntarily.

"You poor thing," said the centauress then, in a soft voice. "You look half-starved!"

Enna could only watch her.

"Come," she continued, holding out her smooth, fleshy hand. "Would you like something to eat, ducky?"

_Food_… Enna's mouth watered, and the wrinkles around the centauress' eyes deepened. "Come, then. You've missed breakfast, but I daresay I'll find you something in the pantry." She dropped her hand and made her slow way to another door. Enna wavered for a moment, but the lure of sustenance was overpowering her other senses, so she followed the centauress at a safe distance.

"I'm afraid the kitchen fires are extinguished for now," she was saying to Enna, throwing open the door and beckoning her into a large pantry. "I hope that cold food is acceptable. It's too bad—palace meals are quite delicious here at Cair Paravel." The centauress laughed merrily, reaching up and pulling things from the shelves into her arms. "Of course, I _should_ say that, me being the head cook, and all, but—now, now, don't look so dejected, ducky. Here, have a seat at this table. It's usually reserved for peeling apples, but that season's over for now, and it'll serve well."

Enna sank cautiously into the low chair, and the centauress placed a pewter plate and mug in front of her, then unloaded her arms onto the linen-covered table and began cutting thick slices of bread.

"I'm called Rosandrine," she said, placing the bread on Enna's plate and slathering jeweled red jam over the slices. "Eat up, ducky—but please, call me Rosa. Don't be shy. Eat all you want. Here's some cider. Cheese? Of course you want some. It's best eaten with this sausage—cooked this morning, don't fret—and here, you're pale, have an apple or two. Let me cut it for you."

Enna couldn't resist anymore: she took a deep breath, inhaling all the wonderful smells, then downed first the jammed bread, then the cheese and sausage, washing it all down with the sweet, cool cider. Rosa watched her eat with a smile, occasionally saying things like "Here's more cider, dear," or "That cheese comes courtesy of my own milk cow, wouldn't you know."

"There," she said when it was obvious Enna couldn't eat any more. "Feeling better?"

"Yes," Enna replied.

Rosa smiled. "I thought as much. Now—if you don't mind me asking, what's your name, ducky?"

"Enna."

"I see. And how old are you, Enna?"

"Eighteen," Enna replied, wondering how old Rosa was.

"Wonderful age for a young woman, wonderful age," Rosa said, and didn't press Enna any further.

Suddenly, the pantry door swung open, making them both jump. A small centaur with sandy hair stood there, a spoon in one hand and his other on the frame. "Grandmother Rosandrine," he said breathlessly.

"Why, what is it, Mindrus?" Rosa asked.

The boy's dark eyes fixed on Enna, and the blood began rushing in her ears. "The king is here, Grandmother," he said. "He's looking for…the human girl. She's to come with him immediately."

----------------------------

_(A/N: I'm back! Woohoo! My vacation was totally great! We went to Gettysburg, the National Civil War Museum, D.C., Sharpsburg, Colonial Williamsburg, Jamestowne, and Lexington, KY! SO cool[Except for the parts that weren't Civil War, of course. I took tons of pictures, so PM me if you want a link to the place where I'll have them posted…let's just say Gettysburg is gorgeous at sunset. But I'm glad to be back, too, especially since my carpal tunnel is gone! Thanks for your concern, everyone, by the way…I felt very loved. And look, it's paid off!_)


	4. Chapter Four

Enna took a quick breath. The king—looking for _her_? She steeled herself for the inevitable rush of weakness that usually accompanied such thoughts, but this time, she managed to stand straight and without any trembling of her limbs.

Rosa looked over at her. "You'd best go, child."

Enna nodded. "Thank you for the food, Rosandrine." Her voice felt hoarse from disuse. Rosa nodded, and the young centaur motioned for Enna to follow him. So she did.

The coal-headed youth Enna'd seen earlier was leaning patiently against the doorframe of the kitchen, but he straightened when he saw their approach. The centaur bowed low, though Enna couldn't bring herself to curtsy—she didn't feel particularly ladylike, anyhow, with Sabsestrin's canvas tunic and wild, uncombed hair.

The youth bowed to her. "I'm pleased to find you, my lady."

Now that she was closer, she saw that he looked to be the same age as she was, perhaps a bit younger, with unnervingly bright blue eyes and tawny freckles splashed generously across his nose and cheeks. "How did you know I was here?" she asked.

He grinned. "That's the thing—I didn't. Guesswork, my lady, is what I thrive on."

Enna must have looked puzzled, for he went on thus: "The captain of the ship you were stowing away on—" Enna winced involuntarily—"wants justice, and when we went to fetch you this morning, you were gone, and my brother is currently searching the castle for you."

Enna felt the blood drain from her face. "Oh…"

The youth watched her with his head tilted curiously. "Come now, don't fret. My royal siblings and I are fair judges, if I may say so myself."

_Royal siblings?_

"Come. The quicker you come to the hearing, the quicker it'll all be over."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The youth motioned for her to follow him, and she did so meekly, through a practically labyrinthine jumble of corridors, until he opened the door to the throne room and shooed various courtiers out of the way. "Have no fear, my lady," he whispered. "Stand here, and I'll fetch my brother."

Two young queens occupied half of the four thrones in front of Enna, and they watched her not unkindly. Partly to get her bearings, and partly to avoid the queens' gazes, Enna looked around the large room, and felt a nasty plummeting sensation in her stomach when she locked eyes with the captain of the _Seacharger_. His lip curled in a sneer, and he made a sudden movement towards her. "So you think yeh'll get away, do yeh, wench?" he snarled.

Enna lifted her chin. "I'll take what I deserve, _sir_, and no less."

"And why should I believe yeh?"

"Honor, sir, an art you would do well to learn."

The captain snarled and started towards her, but a golden-haired young man leapt between the two of them just before he reached her. "Come now, captain!" he cried. "I won't have brutality in my court."

The man's back was to Enna, but the captain shrunk back under what she assumed to be a fierce look. "Yes, Your Majesty, sir."

"Take note, friends," the golden-haired man said, looking around, "of the captain's tendency for viciousness."

There was murmured assent, and the man glanced at Enna before walking up to the first throne and sitting down in it. His dark blue eyes glittered with…something that Enna couldn't quite put her finger on—nothing ill-tempered or malicious, but a sort of quiet dissatisfaction.

"May the hearing be brought to a start," he said, and the coal-headed youth scurried past Enna and to the only remaining throne, but not before throwing Enna a strange gesture, with his fingers folded against his palm and one thumb sticking out towards the sky.

"Captain Minodaurus," the golden-haired man went on, "what is your complaint?"

The captain stumbled forward with one finger pointing towards Enna. "That…that…_minx_ was stowed away on my ship!"

Enna felt a prickle of anger.

"Lady, what is your reply?"

The man's question caught Enna off-guard, and she stammered uncertainly, "W-well, sire, I-I was stowed away on the ship—"

"See? See?" the captain said excitedly.

"—but I brought no ill effect to the ship or its crew. I took only of the stale bread and water. The ship's crew feasted mainly on salt pork and ale, anyhow. They were…drunk most of the time, most unfit for sailing."

"Is this true, Captain?" the eldest queen said severely. The golden-haired king spared Enna a benevolent look, and she felt her pounding heart steady a bit.

"I-I—we-well," the captain stammered. "Well—yes, all right, they were drunk some of the time. Either grog or mutiny, see!"

"When did you discover the girl?" the coal-headed youth interrupted.

"'Bout a week before we set into port," he grumbled.

"And what did you do once you had her?"

"Tossed her in the brig, sire."

"For a week?"

"Aye."

"And did you supply her with food and water during this week?"

"Aye, sire."

A sound of disbelief escaped Enna's throat, though she didn't mean for it to. The golden-haired king turned to her. "And do you have an objection, my lady?"

She nodded, avoiding the captain's vicious look. "I wronged them, sire, but they did not…did not feed me."

"She lies!" the captain bellowed. "The wench lies!"

"No, she does not, Minodaurus, and you know thus well."

This new voice prompted curious mutters from the courtiers, and the four monarchs' gazes were now directed towards the back of the room. Enna turned to look. A young man with untidy brown hair was being escorted into the hall by two centaurs that looked to be more carrying him than otherwise, his youthful face dirtied and pale beneath the sunburn, and his lips dry and cracked.

"Who is this?" the eldest queen asked.

"Aramir, Majesty," he replied.

"Do you have a last name, Aramir?" she pressed.

Aramir's bright eyes grew grave. "Ask him, Your Majesty." He nodded towards the captain.

"Quiet, boy," the captain snarled, fixing him with an utterly hateful look.

"Never mind the last name," the golden-haired king said. "It is of little consequence in this matter. Where did you find him, Orieus?"

"He was aboard the _Seacharger_, sire," one of the centaurs answered. "Lashed to the rigging."

He and his fellow centaur turned the youth around, and Enna's stomach knotted with sympathy as her eyes fell upon his blood-spotted tunic. But she had no time to react, for Orieus pulled it up to show Aramir's back. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a cry. Long, bloody gashes streaked across Aramir's fair skin, arcing up over his shoulders and over to his stomach and chest; dried blood was crusted over everything, and reopened wounds were trickling fresh paths of red down his torn flesh. Enna counted twenty, twenty-five whiplashes before the centaurs pulled his shirt down and turned him back to face the monarchs.

"Methinks the captain didn't want the boy to tell his side of the story, sire," Orieus said grimly.

Both kings gave the captain smoldering looks. "Come, Aramir," said the youngest queen, "you are safe. Let us hear your story."

Aramir looked over to Enna before taking a shuddering breath. "Your Majesties, the captain locked the girl in the brig—that's the hold, where the _Seacharger_'s cargo is—and refused her water and food. I…I thought she was dead, Your Majesties. She stopped makin' noise after a time, you see."

"And how long were you on the ship, Aramir?"

"Since it left port, Your Majesty, from Galma. I'm one o' the crew." A shadow of pain crossed his face, and he pinched his white lips together. "Now I wish I wasn't."

"Have you been whipped so before?"

Aramir hesitated, then nodded slowly. "I tried to bring her some water, see, 'cause the captain's done the same thing to us before…"

"He directly went against my orders, sire," the captain interrupted. "And I demand justice!"

"You shall have it, Captain," the eldest queen said, waving a hand at him. "Aramir, is that so? Did you go against his orders?"

"I didn't believe them right, your Highness."

"You realize that's punishable by law, don't you?" she asked softly.

Aramir hung his head quietly.

"What about the sea rat?" the captain demanded.

"Lady—" the coal-headed youth began, then stopped abruptly. "Say—what's your name, anyhow?"

"Enna, sire. Enna Stalresin."

"Right. Well, Enna Stalresin, I'm sure you know that stowing away on a ship is also punishable by law…"

Enna gulped convulsively and nodded.

"Then I sentence Enna Stalresin to two nights in the dungeon for stowing away on a foreign ship. Does that satisfy you, my royal siblings?"

The other monarchs nodded.

"When your sentence has been served, you are to _lawfully_ board a departing passenger ship and return to the port at which you first boarded the _Seacharger_."

A sick feeling settled in Enna's stomach. "Must it be Galma, sire?" she asked hesitantly.

The golden-haired king looked surprised. "Well, no, I suppose it needn't be…"

"Thank you, sire."

"And Aramir, you are sentenced to four nights in the dungeon for directly disobeying your commanding captain, but henceforth will receive care for your wounds. You, too, will board the next departing passenger ship."

"Yes, sire."

"And Captain Minodaurus?"

"What?" he snarled.

"For maltreatment of both a prisoner and a crewmember, your ship is henceforth expelled from the harbor here, and you are to cast off before noonday tomorrow, and you shall receive no reimbursement for your lost seaman. Apply to the Lord Peridan if you desire compensation for the supplies Enna Stalresin took to sustain her life. Court dismissed."

Chatter rose up from the courtiers, and Enna watched the monarchs as they turned to converse with each other. The coal-headed youth said something that made the other three laugh, and then the eldest queen reached over him to pat the youngest one's hand—she was watching Aramir with a worried look on her face, but at her sister's touch, turned towards her siblings and smiled. Suddenly, the golden-haired king looked up and caught Enna's eye, and before she could look away, he gave her a slow, solemn wink.

"Come, Lady Enna."

A short man-goat took Enna's elbow with a gentle hand, and with many kind reassurances led her out of the throne room. 


	5. Chapter Five

The dungeon in the bowels of Cair Paravel was not as terrible as Enna had thought it would be. She had shown no resistance to her sentence, and so was not manhandled all the way to her rather spacious cell. True, it was dark and chilly, as all dungeons tend to be, but thick stone walls on three sides kept out the cold dankness of the earth that encased it, and the straw inside was dry and looked as though it had been replaced recently. A torch blazed almost merrily on the wall in the corridor outside the bars that locked her in.

But Enna was still huddled in the far corner, the straw piled up around her and her hands up over her ears. Minodaurus' men had followed her and Aramir down to the dungeons, and now dull thuds and muffled groans echoed from somewhere down the corridor. They were exacting their revenge on the poor youth, and no one in the castle knew about it.

One of the youth's cries escaped the gag of whoever's hand had been clamped over his mouth, and the pain in it was heart-wrenching. Enna squeezed her eyes shut. But the thuds came quicker and quicker, and Enna's heart with it. They would kill the youth before anyone would know!

She leapt to her feet and hastened to the bars. The face of the gruff dwarf guarding the entrance to the dungeons flashed before her, and she cleared her throat.

"_Ahem_. Oyez! What's goin' on down there?" The guard's gravelly voice echoed in the corridor, and the thuds stopped abruptly. Enna continued, heartened: "Say—d'yeh hear somethin'? _I_ hear somethin'. I'm goin' ter check on those two Galman'an pris'ners, just a momen'."

There was scuffling and rough whispers, and Enna threw herself into the shadowy corner of her cell just as Destro, Galesh, and a few burly others hurried down the corridor, the youth's limp form between them. Her cell door creaked open, and they tossed the youth in like a sack of potatoes, then slammed the bars shut and hastened away. The youth lay perfectly still on the stone floor.

As soon as the men's scuffling footsteps had faded from earshot, Enna crept from the shadows towards the youth. He was still breathing, she realized after a heart-stopping moment.

"Um…excuse me…" she whispered, not being able to think of anything else to say. "Er…Aramir?"

He did not stir.

A wave of pity swelled in Enna's stomach, and she brushed a few of the dark curls from the youth's brow. A red welt curved from his cheekbone to his chin, and Enna felt sure, with a prickle of horror, that this was the least of his worries.

When he did not respond to her feather-light touch, Enna grew more worried—and more confident in her movements. She stripped the youth's bloodstained tunic off and spread it over some flattened hay, then half-dragged and half-carried the deadweight over to it, resting him on his stomach—relatively unscathed, compared to his chawn-up back. Then she sat back on her heels, absently stroking the youth's fevered temple, as if she could bring him comfort in his unconsciousness. There was a rough-looking blanket in the corner, she noticed, brushing his hair back, and a cup of water from the last inhabitant rested nearby.

Enna got creative.

The blanket looked too scratchy to be of much use, so she made sure the youth was truly unconscious before stripping off her own shirt and quickly replacing it with the blanket, wrapping it tightly, piercing a hole through the layers with a shard of glass found between two flagstones, and then taking one of the leather cords from her hair and threading it through. This she tightened and knotted securely. Now her arms were cold, but her shirt could be put to a much more practical use.

Rips were abundant in the sturdy cloth, and it only took a few minutes to tear it into sizeable strips. Enna took great delight in shredding one of the very last reminders of her life in Sabsestrin's household, and she looked upon the remains with a grim smile.

After glorying in this for a moment, she set to work, dipping the thickest strip into the cup. The water had tasted slightly stale, but was not unusable, so she was determined to make the most of what she had. So she set about dabbing the dried blood from the youth's back.

What lay underneath the thick scabs and deep gouges sickened Enna—white scars crisscrossed the few unhurt areas on the youth's flesh. He obviously was no stranger to cruel whippings, and Enna became so enraged that she accidentally pressed down on a deep gash. The youth stirred and groaned quietly, then opened his eyes and slowly lifted himself to one elbow.

"Oh, please don't do that, you'll make yourself bleed again," Enna heard herself saying, and wondered for a moment where her shyness had gone.

The youth looked in danger of passing out again, so Enna reached out and helped him lower his head to the makeshift pallet. When she began to clean his back again, the muscles in his shoulders tensed visibly, and Enna felt sure he was struggling to keep from crying out. "I'm sorry to hurt you," she whispered sincerely, "but I'm almost done…"

And so not every drop of dried blood was cleaned off before Enna placed the crude bandages over the youth's back, tucking the loose ends securely under his chest. His flesh was warm and firm to her touch, and she wondered briefly if he'd worked on a ship and been whipped in such a manner from a young age.

"How are you feeling?" she asked finally, sitting back and tugging her blanket up higher. "I mean, besides the pain. Any better?"

She could just barely see his bright eyes in the firelight; they were a strange shade of light grey. Almost like the captain's, only his were softer, as the captain's were a hard, steely color. "Besides the pain?" The youth made a strangled sound that appeared to be a weak attempt at a chuckle.

"I see," Enna said, tucking a few stray bits of hair back into her plait. She would have to find a comb before she left Narnia, that was for sure.

The muscles on the youth's back stiffened as he reached a hand up to his face. "What time is it?"

"I don't know," Enna said softly. "They were beating you for several minutes before I—before someone stopped them."

The youth sighed. "I'm glad to be rid of them."

"As am I," Enna whispered.

"I'm sorry I couldn't bring you food," he said.

"Don't be," Enna said, growing increasingly uncomfortable. "Try to rest. You'll heal faster."

The youth closed his eyes, and within moments seemed sound asleep. His gentle breathing was an almost soothing sound in the darkness, though Enna began to regret removing her shirt as her heartbeat slowed and her skin cooled.

After a long while, there came a step out in the corridor. Enna leapt back into the shadows not a moment too soon, for who came down towards the cell but the golden-haired king she'd seen earlier! He carried a bucket in one hand and a torch in the other, and was glancing about uneasily, as if he was wary of being found.

When he caught sight of Aramir lying inert on his makeshift cot, however, the king froze. Enna held her breath. "By the lion's mane," he breathed, then hastily set the bucket down and took a key ring from his belt and unlocked the cell door. Enna pressed herself against the cold stone walls and pulled her blanket higher up her shoulders as the king knelt down beside Aramir. "Excuse me, sire," she whispered as she saw the king's hand move towards the youth's neck, "please, he's sleeping."

The king turned, and Enna nearly forgot to breathe with terror. "I see," he said finally. "I'm sorry. You have obviously taken good care of him."

Enna dared to come out into the pool of light from the king's torch. "The…captain's men were beating him, sire," she said tentatively.

"How dare they!" the king said with wrath in his voice, and he held the torch higher so he could see Aramir's back. Spots of blood were staining the bandages that Enna had worked so hard to arrange there. "I would have the captain thrown into the dungeon for this if I could."

"Can't you?" Enna asked, then immediately regretted being so forward.

The king shook his head. "He is of Galmanian citizenship. I have no authority to do much else than expel him from my ports. In the law's eyes, it is none of my business what he does with his own crew."

"That's terrible," she blurted.

The king nodded mournfully. "'Tis…oh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Forgive me—I nearly forgot. I've brought you…well, I know that dungeon fare isn't very filling, so I brought you and young Aramir there some food from the palace sup upstairs." As he spoke, he stood and retrieved the bucket, setting sheepishly it before Enna. "Please, don't be too offended. I had to put it in a pail so I could carry the torch in my other hand."

"Thank you, sire," she breathed, and took out a linen-wrapped item. She pulled the wrapping away and took a quiet sniff as the delicious scent of roast chicken filled the air. There was a flask of sweet cider, also, and two gleaming plums nestled beside a basket of fluffy white rolls. "Thank you very much, sire," Enna repeated, this time with a bit more feeling.

Suddenly, the king's eyes fell upon her bare shoulders, and she stiffened. But there was no need for alarm, for they quickly darted to the wrappings on Aramir's back, and Enna could see the king making the connections. "You are cold," he said finally. Enna resisted the urge to nod fervently.

"Aramir's needs surpassed my own, sire," she whispered.

The king stood abruptly. "Wait here," he said in a brisk tone, and Enna couldn't help but wonder where she'd go otherwise. She was locked in a cell. But the king took no notice of this rather ironic command and strode purposefully into the corridor, pushing the door carelessly behind him, so it swung halfheartedly but did not close. Enna stared at the rather enticing opening as his footsteps faded from hearing.

The youth stirred at this moment, and Enna turned and went to his side. "How did you sleep?" she asked softly.

"Ill," he sighed, "but better than I have these past days, many thanks to you." His lips twitched in a slight smile.

She pulled her blanket up higher on her shoulders. "Are you at all hungry? We have some fantastic provisions here…"

"I am not much at all," he said. "But thank you."

"Come, you must regain your strength," Enna pressed, and took out a sweet roll. "Here—have some bread." She waved the warm puff temptingly under his nose, and he reached out.

"All right, all right," he said with a weak laugh, "you have persuaded my appetite." He took the roll and broke off a bit of the fluffy bread.

"Thirsty?" Enna asked, and poured a bit of the sweet wine into the old mug. "Go on, drink."

He downed the roll and wine quickly, then sighed and looked over at her. "You must be an angel, miss."

"A rather disagreeable one, I'm afraid," Enna said with a slight laugh. "And I've never heard of angels having chapped skin and salty hair."

Aramir smiled but did not reply.

The king's step was heard in the corridor again, and Enna pulled her blanket up again as he entered the cell with his arms heavily laden. "Good evening, Aramir," he said when he noticed the youth watching him.

"Aye, sire, and to you," Aramir replied, and struggled to sit upright. Enna put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back to the straw.

"I have brought some things that might come in handy sometime," the king said, almost tentatively, and laid the packages in his arms out before Enna so she could see. There were four thick, warm-looking blankets, several rolls of white bandages, a glass vial with a cork, and what seemed to be a soft tunic.

"I apologize for the shirt," he said guiltily, "but I was trying to hurry and I thought you'd rather pick out your own gown later."

Enna took it and shook it out. The fabric seemed incredibly soft to her calloused fingers, and it was of a sturdy material with no fancy embroidery to irritate her skin. "Thank you, sire," she said, and would have bowed low if her rather immodest blanket had allowed her.

"If you would like to don it now, I think you will find yourself in more comfort," he replied.

She nodded, then gave both the king and Aramir such smoldering glances that the king turned to face the wall and Aramir buried his face in his arms. Giving no thought to anything but getting out of the blanket, Enna turned her back to them, scrambled to untie the cord, and slipped into the tunic and dropped the blanket to the floor.

"You can look now."

The two men turned back, and Enna knelt back down at Aramir's side, gently tugging the canvas strips from his scabbed back. "I'm sorry," she whispered as he hissed in pain. "The king has brought some proper bandages for you."

"And salve," the king said, hefting the phial in his hand.

Enna wiped a dribble of fresh blood from the deepest gash before taking the salve from him. It smelled of almonds and menthol and tingled pleasantly as she poured some into her palm, but Aramir's muscles tensed as she touched his back to apply it.

"Steady, now," the king said, putting his hands on the youth's arms in a bracing sort of way.

Aramir's muscles tensed and slackened as he struggled against the cry of pain that must have been fighting to free itself from his throat, and Enna found herself wincing as she rubbed the salve into the deep gashes on the youth's back.

When she finished, Enna's palms were smeared with minty ointment and blood, and she quickly rubbed them off on the cleanest scrap of canvas she could find.

"You'll feel better in a snap, I'm sure of it," the king was saying to Aramir, who was trying bravely to smile.

Enna took the rolls of bandages and brushed a stray curl from Aramir's brow. "One last time, I promise."

He looked at the bandages and gave a tight-lipped nod.

Enna bandaged Aramir as gently as she could, and once she was done, he actually managed to sit up, though he swayed alarmingly for a moment before straightening and giving a courageous grin.

"That's a boy," the king said proudly, clapping the youth's shoulder. Now that Enna could see them side-to-side, they looked to be about the same age, perhaps, or only a few years apart.

"Thank you, sire," she said, bowing,

"Peter."

"Excuse me, sire?"

"Peter," he repeated. "My name is Peter."

"A noble name, sire."

He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to change his mind and instead shut it with a sigh. "You two should try to get some rest," he said after a momentary pause. "I've looked into departing passenger ships—"

Enna's heart leapt.

"And the next one bound for a foreign port isn't due to set sail until the next new moon."

"Two months?" Enna gasped, then clapped a hand over her mouth. "I mean—thank you, sire."

"You will be properly fed and boarded upon the termination of your sentences, of course," he continued quietly. "I assure you, you will be most comfortable."

"I think anything is more comfortable than a ship, sire," Aramir said, and Enna smiled.

"Cair Paravel is better than any ship, I swear," said the king with a good-natured laugh. "I'm only sorry you had to spend your first nights down here...good night, then."

"Good night, sire," Aramir and Enna said in unison. And so the king left them.


	6. Chapter Six

_(A/N: I LIVE!! Whew…it's been a VERY long few months, eh? School has just been so stressful and time-consuming lately that I have had hardly any time at ALL to even read, much less write. But I've been trying to catch up, and have made some heartening progress in all five of my current projects—not including, of course, the A Time for Us oneshots I've promised people. I'm so sorry about the delay! But here's a rather brief chapter, to hopefully slake your thirst._)

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Enna lifted her head groggily and spat bits of straw out of her mouth, wiping her face with her sleeve and stretching. Spears of sharp bedding jabbed her in every location imaginable, and she began to feel distinctly like curling up again and never waking up. But the chill air, throbbing temples, and highly disagreeable sleeping area convinced her otherwise, and she managed to drag her body into what was more or less a sitting-up position.

"I see you're awake," said Aramir from his side of the hay mound.

Enna ran the unnecessarily long sleeve of the soft tunic over her eyes and began to pick the leftover bits of straw from her hair. "In a manner of speaking, yes. How long did I sleep?"

"I have no idea, really," he said apologetically. "A few hours, I'd guess."

Enna nodded silently and began to loosen her plait. But this determined to be a task worth several hours and a few different comb sizes, so she did it up again and tied it firmly, making a promise to herself to wash it properly once she had the chance.

Aramir's voice broke the silence of the dungeon. "King Peter's been by already. Fine chap—brought us breakfast, too."

"Really? Breakfast?" Enna echoed breathlessly, then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth.

But Aramir didn't seem to notice—what seemed to Enna—her continuing odd talkativeness, and nodded towards another bucket nearby. "He said it was fantastic fare today. Take a gander, if you want."

Enna stood stiffly and went towards the pail. Under the linen handkerchief, she found a large loaf of soft white bread with a little glass pot of ruby red jam. _Ah, Rosandrine,_ Enna thought, lifting it out with a twitching of her lips. There was a jug of cool water, too, and two boiled eggs alongside a napkin wrapped around what she assumed to be knives or other utensils.

"Aramir," she said after a moment's concerned pause, "how come you haven't eaten yet?"

"Wasn't hungry."

She looked up suspiciously, and then felt her heart contract with sympathy. Aramir was stretched out on his stomach with his face hidden in his arms. Though he'd tried to disguise it with a woolen blanket, she could see plainly the dark blood staining his bandages.

"Aramir," Enna clucked, and tugged the napkin out of the pail. Two knives and a phial clattered across the flagstones. Her heart leapt at the sight of the king's salve, and she snatched it before crawling over to Aramir's side.

He stirred at her approach and hastily attempted to sit up, but she caught his warm shoulder and forced him none-too-gently back to the straw. A groan of pain escaped his throat, and she bit the inside of her lower lip firmly as she began to peel the soaking bandages from his torn skin.

Under the smears of blood, however, Enna could see that what the night before had been deep, dark gashes were now puckered and shallow. As she dabbed the blood from his skin, the white scars that marked previous scourgings became clearer, and her stomach clenched with pity.

"Tell me," Aramir said suddenly. "What was it that made you stow away on the _Seacharger_, anyhow?"

Enna froze for an instant, casting about for a good excuse, then continued cleaning the youth's skin. "That, sir, is none of your business."

Aramir took the hint and fell silent; Enna poured the piquant salve onto her hands and worked it gently into his wounds. The poor youth had a hard time keeping his cries of pain mute as she rubbed raw skin and tender bruises, and his kept his hands clenched in the straw.

Finally, Enna wiped her hands clean and found the other roll of white linen bandages. They'd gotten stuck under a little mound of hay, and as she picked the bits from the fabric, she asked Aramir how old he was.

"Twenty, miss, or thereabouts," was his answer.

"'Thereabouts?'" Enna echoed.

Aramir did his best to shrug. "I know I was born on April the twelfth. Just which year is beyond me—all I know is I'm between twenty and seventeen summers."

Aramir was surprisingly young for a sailor, Enna thought to herself as she smeared some of Rosandrine's jam on a hunk of white bread for him. He ate the food gratefully as she re-bandaged his back, and for a long while, the only sound was that of chewing, the occasional chink of utensil on flagstones, and the crackling of the torches in the corridors.

Finally, Enna worked up the courage to ask the tow-headed young man lying nearby, "Aramir…why…why do you—where did all those scars on your back come from?"

"The captain," he answered matter-of-factly, and ate his egg.

Questions began popping up in Enna's mind, and she took a steadying breath. 'Twould serve no good to get overwhelmed. "How long have you been sailing?"

"About ten years, or so."

"Where did you live?"

"My blood's Calormene and Archenlandian, by my parents raised on the isle of Galma."

Enna scarcely suppressed a shudder at the mention of her old home. She thought she'd left it all behind, and yet this doe-eyed youth watching her so calmly had grown up there, too. "I see. And what about your parents?"

"My mother and father took ill with fever when I was about six."

"Oh." He didn't need to say any more; already, Enna was full of pity for him.

"And yours?" he asked then.

Enna's tongue stopped working quite suddenly. "Er…um…my…my—f-father died when I was very young, and my mother wed his brother when I was nine." Enna took a breath and swallowed hard—she scarcely knew Aramir, and yet here she was, telling him things she never dared to think about, herself. She twisted her tunic in her hands and shifted to face away from him. It was getting rather cold.

"Thank you, miss," Aramir said after a moment's silence.

"My name's Enna," she replied, and was instantly regretful for her rather sharp tone.

"Thank you, Enna."

Enna passed her sleeve over her eyes, trying to rub away the ache that had settled behind them, and let out a sigh. The hay mound looked suddenly inviting again, and she stumbled over to curl up in it. It had scarcely entered her mind that she hadn't eaten any of the king's breakfast when she curled up under her blanket and drifted off into restless sleep.


	7. Chapter Seven

_(A/N: Woohoo! I live! Happy Spring Break, everyone. I'm so sorry this chapter is so late. But you've got to understand how hectic my life is. I started playing softball three or four weeks ago, I've been working on getting my Chemistry grades up, etc. I feel so bad for just neglecting my baby like this! I hope you all like this chapter, because it's my end of spring break present to all of you. Consider it a non-confrontational way of me coming to every one of your houses with cookies and ice cream and throwing myself at your feet and begging forgiveness. But I really like that cookie idea…no, bad Sushi! Write this chapter! No cookies until you're done!_

_On a sadder note, our very own Schmo moved to South Dakota over two weeks ago! That's over five hundred miles away! Therefore, this chapter is dedicated to her, in memory of her many contributions to this and many other stories of mine. Enjoy it for her sake!)_

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Even when one is suffering from the sheer exhaustion of weeks lashed to a ship's bowsprit, a mound of hay never allows for much sleep. Thus, Enna tossed to and fro the rest of the day and into the night, sweating and seeing shadow wraiths more than actually sleeping. Aramir was whiffling quietly with his arm as a pillow when she truly awoke. The dungeon was oddly quiet. The sconces on the wall flickered dimly, casting weird shadows across the floor.

Enna sat up and shivered uneasily.

It must be nighttime, she reasoned, brushing the straw out of her plait—it was more for something to do than for aesthetics. Who was there to care if she had bits of dried grass caught in her hair: rats and prison guards? Enna amused herself for a moment with the thought of the fat, smelly, bearded dwarves being offended at the sight of her disheveled self.

The rest of the castle above them was probably asleep on goose-down mattresses and silken sheets. Enna sighed wistfully. If her borrowed tunic was softer than any bed she'd slept in for a long while, she could only imagine the luxury of noblemen and ladies' bed sheets. They would be soft and sleek and scented…the tunic was scented. It smelled lightly of cedar and sandalwood.

She sniffed it quickly, then succumbed to the urge to inhale deeply of it. Someone must have kept this fine shirt in a wooden chest. Maybe the chest was delicately carved, or inlaid with gold and precious jewels. Maybe a nobleman kept it at the foot of his bed, and stored his polished armor and glittering sword in it with the shirt as a reminder of a certain fierce battle he had won. Maybe some gentlelady kept her cloth-of-gold gowns and precious gems in it, and the shirt had mingled with sachets of incense and silk slippers. Maybe—

Enna stopped herself. Her wicked imagination was what used to get her into so much trouble back in Galma, after all. It would only foster greed and envy if she continued imagining such finery. But what fun it was! She remembered when she had slept on soft sheets and owned a carved chest, once. Her slippers were emerald green with ruby embroidering on the toes. Then she grew out of them, and Mother wouldn't make her another pair—disrespectful to her dying father, Mother had said. So Enna wore leather shoes until those wore out, and then she went barefoot because Sabsestrin believed that leather was for making armor and hawking gloves, not children's shoes. The first time she'd gone outside to help Sabsestrin's menservants in the vineyard, there'd been a pile of smoldering ash from her uncle's pipe, which Enna did not see and as a result promptly stepped on. The burn blistered and burst and got so infected that it had had to be lanced with a hot poker from the fireplace. Then it turned purple and yellow and finally healed only because winter came and there was no farm work left to be done.

_On my father's grave, I shall go mad if I am alone much longer!_ Enna thought vehemently, shaking her head heatedly to divest herself of the unpleasant memories. _Mother always said I think too much and now I believe she was right!_

As she sat in contemplation, there was a far-off screech, like that of a rusty door being opened. Enna sat up straight and tilted her head so as to hear better. Yes, there were footsteps!

She got a horrible sick feeling in her stomach. There was more than one pair of feet that made the distant echoes. What if Minodaurus' men had returned to finish the job they'd started with Aramir? They would thrash her, too, if she were to be found.

Without a second thought, Enna scurried to the cell door and called out, mimicking the voice of one of the guards from before, "'Ey! Stop righ' there, 'less you got yerself a piece o' aut'oriz-a-tion wit' the royal lion on it!"

The footsteps stopped.

"Does you, or doesn't you?" Enna continued, in the other guard's voice. "Yeh'd be'er, 'cause I've got meself a splittin' 'eadache and won' tolerate no nonsense. Ruddy ale."

"I say!" came a voice in response. "Who gave you clearance to demand authorization? And…where are you? Show yourself!''

Enna's heart began to pound in her ears. But she quickly rallied and called out, "'is Royal 'ighness King Pe'er, that's 'oo. 'n me 'ead is achin' like the dickens 'isself 'n I isn't wantin' ter 'show meself'."

"That's impossible!"

"'Tisn't. The king hisself handed me t'orders 'n told me as such!"

"In the name of Aslan, _I_ am King Peter and never in my life did I authorize such measures! Gertrum, call the palace guards. There is an imposter in our midst."

Only then did Enna recognize the voice. It _was_ the king! Her heart stopped still and her brain ground to a halt. _What have I done?_ _What have I done!_

Suddenly, there was a hand at her elbow, moving her gently to the side, and _Aramir_ stepped past her up to the door and called out…something—Enna's ears had stopped working. A mantra of _By my life, I've affronted the high king of Narnia. By my life, I've affronted the high king of Narnia. _was running through her mind. She felt oddly disconnected—strange—distant. Aramir's bandages were still white. There was a pink scar on her left palm. The torches hissed. The king himself and several subjects were coming towards the cell. Aramir was telling her something. The gash on his cheek looked better. He grasped her upper arms…

Right were Sabsestrin had left bruises so many times. Enna jerked out of her daze and out of his grip. The sickening feeling of being touched against her will sent shivers of almost-forgotten revulsion crawling up and down her spine once again. But the king was unlocking the cell door and beckoning his entourage inside. Enna pulled herself together with an effort. She bowed low, lower than usual, and to the goat-man, the centaur, and the…tree-looking thing that the king had brought with him.

"Lady Enna, did you hear the voices that were coming from this way?" the king asked. He was dressed much more elaborately than he had been before: a rich red and gold tunic draped his chest, cinched with an ornately decorated belt and a blood red cloak swathing his shoulders. "There were two men. Dwarves, by the sound of it."

Enna's jaw began to quiver of its own accord as she cast about for something to say. "Er…uh…yes, sire."

His dark eyes were boring into hers. "I see. And from whom did it come? Aramir here said it had been a misunderstanding, nothing more. But I should like proof that there is not another man running about claiming to be me."

"Sire," Enna began, stumbling a little over the word. The centaur was beginning to frighten her a little with his stoic, black-eyed stare and thick, crossed arms. "Sire…it was I. It was I who made the voices."

She expected flaming wrath from the high king. But instead, he gave her an astounded, slightly baffled look. "Come again? You say _you_ made the voices?"

"Aye, sire," she whispered, wilting despite her determination to look him in the eye.

"Aramir, is this true?" the king asked.

Enna snuck a look at the doe-eyed youth beside her. He gave a firm nod. "Aye, Your Majesty, she tells the truth."

The king's expression turned to one of interest. "How, exactly, did you mimic them so expertly?"

Enna, to her absolute horror, felt her cheeks reddening. Now she was blushing in front of the high king! What next? But out loud, she said, "I don't know exactly how I mimic people, Your Majesty. I just…can."

"Show me," the king said next. "Mimic…my brother, King Edmund. Do you remember his voice?"

Enna thought for a moment, then nodded shyly. "Aye, sire."

"Then, please, we are all ears."

Enna could feel her knees trembling, but she cleared her throat. What would the younger king say? One thing he'd told her seemed especially evocative of the king: _Guesswork, my lady, is what I thrive on._ So she said, mimicking him to the best of her ability, "Guesswork, my lord, is what I thrive on."

The king's eyes bugged out. "Astonishing! By the lion, you sounded just like him! Bravo, my lady Enna, bravo." He and his troupe applauded her.

Enna felt rather proud of herself for a moment, before realizing that she could have gotten in serious trouble doing the same thing in another kingdom. She quickly felt horrified, and wished that the noble group would stop complimenting her.

"You must show my royal brother himself, tonight," the king said with a wide and handsome grin. "At palace sup. I daresay he will laugh until his sides split!"

"But, my lord," Enna protested, "I am still serving my sentence here."

The king looked puzzled, then slapped his forehead, making his crown wobble. "By the lion…I nearly forgot! That is what we are here for, my lady Enna. Your sentence has been served. Naeomi here will take you to your room, and help you…"

"Bathe and dress yourself, milady," said the tree-thing, curtsying—to Enna!

"Right," said the king. "I would very much like to see you at sup tonight."

"Y-yes, sire," Enna stammered. Her sentence was served! She was _free_! But there was a slight unhappiness in her elation. Aramir still had two nights to serve, by himself. She stole a glance at him, and he was smiling quietly. _Poor dear,_ Enna couldn't help but think. Naeomi had taken her hand and was leading her away, but Enna made a solemn promise to herself to visit the poor battered youth as much as she could.

What better was there for her to do? After all, she was to remain in Narnia for the next two months.


	8. Chapter Eight

_(A/N: Hey, look! I updated again despite all the enormous pressure of school and softball! Am I amazing or what? So please read and please please please enjoy! PS: Happy Mother's Day!)_

Enna, taking her first free step in days, blinked in the blinding sunshine. The sudden heat of the day had gone right to her head, and she quickly began to feel rather ill. The palace courtyard's foreign sounds, smells, and sights pressed in upon her senses: people were shouting and laughing in outlandish tongues, there was a distinct smell of sweaty horse though there was neither hide nor head of any equine in the vicinity, and the creatures milling about! Enna was quite overwhelmed.

Naeomi pressed her hand with her leafy fingers, and Enna's heart began to pound. A quiver was building in her legs. She needed to go somewhere, and that somewhere was away from here, with the blazing daylight and the sickening smells and the crowds. She found herself breaking into a trot. Naeomi gave her a puzzled look.

"Why is milady in such haste?" she asked. "I am quite sure, milady's chambers won't go anywhere if we tarry." So saying, she stepped into a darkened doorway and led Enna up a cool staircase.

Enna breathed easier. "I apologize."

Naeomi curtsied in response. "Milady's bath has been drawn already, and milady's servant shall assist you in bathing."

"'Milady's servant'?" Enna echoed softly. _Should I understand her?_

Naeomi looked slightly embarrassed for Enna's sake. "Er…myself, milady."

Enna wanted to sink into the cobbled floor.

"After milady is clean to milady's satisfaction, if it be milady's will, milady's servant shall dress her as is appropriate to a guest in the High King's castle." Naeomi reached the top of the staircase and beckoned for Enna to follow her down a corridor.

Enna had to think a moment before cottoning on to Naeomi's meaning. "Er…aye. It's milad—I mean, _my_ will."

"Very good, milady," said Naeomi. She then stopped, curtsied, and let Enna into a room. "These shall be milady's chambers for the remainder of milady's visit, if they suit milady."

Enna couldn't reply. The room—oh! the room! It was the largest bedroom Enna had seen in her life. Two windows taller than she (and that was a feat indeed!) opened over cushioned seats on the western wall to the wide blue expanses of the sky and the sea, which looked so gay and harmless when one was on dry land. They cast wide blocks of sunlight onto the floor with its warm fur rugs and onto the bed with its rich linens and curtains in emeralds and golds. A cozy chair rested near a massive fireplace with glowing red coals and charming painted scenes on the mantelpiece. At the foot of the bed was a chest carved with scenes of picnics and those strange goat-men. There was a handsome mahogany desk near the windows, too, with a stack of vellum and parchment arranged neatly on the surface. Enna could hear the waves crashing, crashing, on the rocks below.

"Milady's servant hopes milady will be comfortable in such close quarters," said Naeomi.

Enna stared at her, her earlier panic all but forgotten. "Aye. Milady will be!"

"Then would it please milady to bathe now?"

With a twinge of mortification, Enna remembered her bedraggled appearance. Certainly she must smell appalling—brine and fish and straw and sweat and sandalwood? "Aye, please."

Naeomi beckoned her over. In a pool of sunshine from the window rested a steaming tub. Little suds of soap lined the edges. Enna got gooseflesh just looking at it! She stared at it like a starving man stares at a rabbit, hardly noticing when Naeomi sat her down and began to comb her unruly mane—she was so eager that she hesitated barely a moment before shedding her baggy tunic and salty trousers in front of the maid and climbing into the hot water.

It sent shivers up and down her spine. She sank leisurely into the suds, her teeth chattering with enjoyment as the heat soaked into her muscles and slowly unknotted them. Dirt lifted off her flesh with every movement and stained the bottoms of the soapsuds.

Enna sighed. She was properly warm—for the first time in several very long months! Her fingertips tingled with the heat of the water. She settled down even further into the tub, until the tip of her nose brushed the bubbles.

"Milady?"

Naeomi's voice was a rather unappreciated interruption, but Enna masked her irritation and looked over at the tree-thing, who was now holding a flask. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"If milady pleases," Naeomi said, "milady's servant will wash milady's hair."

Enna grinned despite herself. "I please very much!"

It was heavenly. Naeomi cleaned Enna's hair better than even Enna herself could have done, and Enna was so sleepy afterwards that Naeomi had to help her out of the bath and into a fluffy cotton robe like a little child—she nearly nodded off while Naeomi was combing the tangles from her sodden hair.

Enna didn't remember much after that.

She woke what seemed like a lifetime later, curled up under the mountain of bed linens like a bear cub, her hair loose and clean and her body deliciously warm. The window shutters were closed, but one had crept open, and outside, the sky was dark. A cheery fire was snapping and crackling in the ingle. A little lamp was burning next to the bed, and a few candles were glimmering on the wall.

Enna stretched slowly and tucked her hands under her head and gazed out of the window. The moon was hanging low over the horizon, casting white shimmerings on the black water. The smell of salt water and all other sorts of delicious sea smells were heavy on the air, and Enna could tell by its distinct tang that rain was not far off.

Unhurriedly, she sat up and wrapped the robe around herself again. It looked to be very late at night, and it wouldn't do any good to remain in bed stark naked, especially morning came round. (No decent kind of woman would even dream of doing such a thing.) Enna danced across the cold cobblestones to the chest at the foot of the bed and stopped to look at it. Her conscience panged terribly when she thought about looking for a nightgown inside. Nothing in this room was hers, nor could she ever dream of owning anything so lovely. But she was in need of clothing, and the king Peter could not expect her to go naked to supper and breakfast or out of the room at all.

She opened the chest guiltily. It turned out to be nearly empty, except for two pairs of slippers, ornate and brightly colored but several sizes too small; a yellow gown that Enna couldn't even pull over her hips; a purple one that felt and looked to be the size of a ship's sail; a man's tunic and grass-stained trousers; and a frilly nightdress that billowed about her legs and barely reached her wrists. But she put the nightgown on gratefully and put the cotton robe neatly into the chest in its place.

Enna then went to the window and gazed out, her elbows not minding the cold stone of the windowsill. The water was a glimmering onyx under the wide sky; the moon was swollen and so close she could see the dusky blue dips on its surface. Thousands of stars winked down at her from their places in a sky so black one would think it didn't even exist. All was quiet, except for the soft hushing of waves crashing on the cliffs below, and a soft breeze whispering across the surface of the water, stirring Enna's hair and dancing onward over the castle to unknown places.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Enna caught a glimpse of something moving. She quickly turned to look. It was a lone figure, walking slowly along the battlements several fathoms below her window. The figure held his hands in his pockets and went forward with his head bowed, a solitary cloak fluttering about his shoulders. He looked absolutely frozen to Enna, whose heart throbbed with sympathy. _The poor thing,_ she thought. _A kitchen boy, sent to bed without supper for a silly mistake. I will give him a blanket so he won't freeze tonight._ (She neglected to remember the distinct lack of human kitchen servants in the castle.)

Stepping away from the window only long enough to pull the woolen coverlet off her bed, Enna returned to find the figure leaning over the battlements with his chin in one hand, gazing wistfully off over the sea.

"Are you all right?" Enna called down. "Would you like a blanket?"

The figure looked up, but was silent for a moment before he said, "No, thank you, Lady Enna. But I would like to know where you were at sup?"

Enna was confused, and she looked closer at the stranger's face.

"My brother was wanting to hear your impression of him."

Enna felt her blood run cold. That was the _high king!_ She leapt back from the window and slammed the shutters closed behind her. Without a second thought, she threw the nightgown off and replaced it with the man's clothing from the chest, binding her hair back in a plait. Here she stopped, her heart racing a thousand miles a second. There were no shoes, so she would have to do without. A second glance out of the window showed that the battlements were clear—

Enna then did a very foolish thing. With bitter tears, she pulled the silken sheets off her bed and tied them in knots and flung the homemade rope out the window after binding them about the bedpost. They were a fathom or so short of the battlements, but she could jump. A last look round the cozy little room and Enna was shimmying down the wall. She would get out of the castle and escape with her life if she had to break all the bones in her body. The high king would surely behead her if she let herself be caught, otherwise.

She must get away from this terrible place.


	9. Chapter Nine

Enna found herself out on the grass before long. With all the windows of the palace glinting down at her, she felt distinctly exposed, and with hardly a thought but to escape, she took off at a run, leaping over stones and other natural litter, and would have kept running if she had not run smack into a solid object. This solid object happened to be a very tall centaur, and he grabbed hold of her before she could gain her feet again and held fast. She struggled violently to free herself, but he only lifted her off the ground and let her dangle in midair.

"Merius! Merius! What in Aslan's name are you doing?"

The centaur looked past her and then bowed suddenly, brushing Enna across the grass and lifting her again. "My lord, please to let me explain."

"Set Lady Enna on her feet and let her come here first, my friend."

Enna was put back down and pushed gently in the direction of—the _high king._ He looked down at her with something akin to pity in his gentle eyes, and bowed to the centaur. "Thank you, Merius, but your services are no longer needed."

"Yes, sire," returned the creature with an elaborate bow.

"Come along, Lady Enna," said the king to her, extending his arm. "Let us return to Cair Paravel and fetch you some hot cider. Then perhaps you might feel inclined to talk with me."

Enna felt her heart catch in her throat, but there was nothing for her to do but timidly hook her hand over his elbow, and he led her leisurely across the grassy knolls towards the castle. She could feel the heat of his flesh through the soft cotton tunic he wore, and his pulse was slow and steady against her palm. _How can he be so composed?_ she thought frantically, and with a twinge of jealousy. Her own heart was racing so hard she wondered why the king couldn't hear it.

He glanced over at her, and her knees went weak with trepidation. "Your hand is trembling, Lady Enna," said the king to her. "Are you afraid?"

"No, my lord," she insisted, sounding much braver than she felt!

"I assure you, there is nothing to fear," he went on. "It has already been almost a week since a maid was last beheaded in our court!"

Enna knew he was jesting, but her face paled of its own accord.

Oh, by the devil, he had noticed. "Please, Lady Enna, forgive me. My brother has oft accused me of having a merciless teasing streak. Now I see that he is right. Pay me no attention, I beg you. I only wished to ease your discomfort."

"I am not discomforted, sire!" Enna said, more indignantly than she'd intended.

"Your face says otherwise, madam," he replied easily. "Your cheeks have an unhealthy pallor, and your mouth is quite thin. And your brow is furrowed."

"It is my head," she answered. "It aches."

"I see," he said, but Enna knew he did not believe her.

After a few silent minutes, they came to the great, gated entrance to the castle. Enna wondered if the king would really have to wake the gatekeepers to open it for them, but he turned quickly and led her over to a small door in the shadows, which he unlocked and opened. "If one wants to know the secret entrances to a castle," he explained, locking it behind him once they were both through, "it really is useful, being its king."

Enna actually felt a smile twitching on her lips, but she quickly hid it and forced it away. The king hadn't noticed. "Aye, sir," she said solemnly.

He nodded in reply, and they went up through the deserted courtyard into a corridor, lit with flickering torches along the wall. As soon as Enna went in and the light washed over her, she realized that the king looked positively exhausted. Dusky circles underscored his eyes, and there was a peculiar way about how he blinked that suggested to Enna that he hadn't slept in a good many hours. She dearly wanted to say something to him, perhaps recommend that he retire for the night, but then she remembered that he was the king and she was a guest in deep trouble, and she kept her mouth shut.

Soon enough, Enna recognized the corridor they were in, and the king rapped twice at a door before it opened, admitting them both. The admitter was Rosandrine, who smiled and curtsied clumsily to the king, then reached out and tenderly touched Enna's loose hair.

"Hello, love," she said kindly. Then to the king, "My lord, what would you like?"

"Some hot cider or tea, Rosandrine, if it isn't too much of a trouble."

"Of course not!" Rosandrine cried, and set about clearing a table for Enna and the king to sit at.

"Please, Lady Enna, I would be honored if you would sit here," he said, pulling out a chair and beckoning her to it.

Enna sat obediently, folding her hands in her lap and casting her eyes to the ground. A chair groaned as the king sat, and she saw him lean forward onto the table; he sighed almost inaudibly, and this strangely _human_ sound made Enna look up. He was simply observing her, with a inquisitive furrow in his brow, the way one would watch a specimen in a menagerie. Enna felt her hackles rise a little. Before she could stop herself, she said:

"Why do you stare at me so, Your Majesty?"

He looked a little taken aback, and Enna felt her heart stop, but then he smirked not unkindly. "Do not mistake natural curiosity for lack of manners, my lady. I…I am simply trying to divine what it is within you that makes you so…unusually wary of others. Do you have dwarfish blood, perhaps?"

"I should think not," was her brisk reply. "I am Galmanian."

The king nodded thoughtfully.

"And what would make you—Your Majesty think that I am mistrustful?" she added.

He raised his eyebrows. "I see that you do not take kindly to caged questions. There we are one, my lady. I suppose I must ask you outright. Why did you take to flight so suddenly?"

It was a direct question, one that she could do nothing to avoid. She _was_ in trouble!

"Please, sire," she began. "Do not be angry with me. I was so tired. I slept through the supper hours…and I…I was afraid…simply afraid…that Your Royal Highness would take offense at my oversight. I was afraid…I feared that you would put me back into the dungeon, or…" She stopped herself and lowered her head, physically biting her tongue so hard that she could almost taste the pain.

The king bent forward until he'd caught her eye. "Please, Lady Enna, continue. You face no castigation here. Not in my kingdom."

"Do not tell me I misjudged you!" Enna heard herself saying loudly. "For I know enough about the wide world to know how kings take to offense."

The king folded his hands on the table and looked at them. Rosandrine set two steaming cups of sweet-smelling cider before them, but Enna didn't dare take a sip. The centauress then retreated to the potato room.

Then the king looked up. "Please—" he said, motioning to her, "please, drink. If you were to catch a choler from your jaunt about in the chill night air, I should never forgive myself."

She hesitated a moment before taking up the mug and sipping at it.

"I am, to say the least, disappointed," he began. "I wish that you had had a better impression of me, and my royal siblings…I am saddened to hear that you feared for your life in Narnia. Indeed, it grieves me deeply."

To her extreme annoyance, Enna felt guilt churning in her belly. The poor young man looked so burdened already, and now she had brought more woe to rankle in his heart. She bit her lip sorrowfully and put her hands in her lap. "Please, sire," she said, "please, it is my own fault, not any of yours. I…" She swallowed away the rising bile of panic in her throat. "I am a very impetuous person. I often misapprehend things, to my own detriment."

He smiled kindly at her. "Do not fault yourself, so, madam. I readily admit that your reception at Cair Paravel was not the finest this court has seen. But while Narnians pride themselves on their freedom and happiness, the law is the law, and it must not be broken. You understand, I hope?"

She nodded truthfully. "Aye, my lord."

The king reached across the table and patted her hand. The sudden intrusion of her comfort zone made her start. But he didn't seem to notice, instead standing up and putting his cup into a bucket of soapy water. "Very well, then, Lady Enna. My heart is certainly lighter, and I thank you. I hope also that you are relieved of your distress. I assure you, in this castle your neck is quite safe from being severed."

Enna found herself smiling a little at this, and she hid it behind her hand. "Aye, sire."

"Tomorrow, perhaps, when you are better rested, you might join the court at a meal."

"Aye, sire."

He looked about to leave, but then he stopped and looked back at her. "And I will speak to my sisters about procuring you some proper clothes. I…" He actually looked a little embarrassed. "I know nothing about gowns and silk and lace. But Susan will surely die of shock if she sees you in a man's trousers."

Enna had forgotten about her terribly inappropriate attire! She felt her cheeks flaming, but she nodded reservedly and said, "Thank you, sire."

The king nodded, then gave her a little bow and left the room. Enna, suddenly alone, quickly drained the rest of the sweet cider and sat in thought for a while before returning to her room to stoke up the fire and settle down for what looked to be a long sojourn.


	10. Chapter Ten

The next morning, Enna woke early, plaited her hair, and went to visit Aramir. It was the morning of his last day in the dungeons, and soon he would be released to have his run of the castle, but she was drawn to him, had a strong kinship with that battered young man—both of them had been mistreated by the detestable sea captain and endured much on his ship. Even suffered, perhaps, for a good percentage of their lives.

With her she brought a basket of steaming bacon with a bowl of porridge perched precariously inside. When she stepped into the dank darkness of the dungeon, her throat seemed to swell up and her heart began to race, but she forced herself to continue down into the bowels of the castle. It was colder than she remembered, and she repressed shivers and clutched the warm basket to her chest. This little action soothed her frayed nerves, and she walked with her head higher than the king might've liked, despite all his gracious words the night before. But she forgot everything that had happened to her when she saw Aramir's joyous face peering out from behind the bars.

"Good morning," he called to her with a delighted smile. "I see that you are not too good to visit with a poor sailor such as myself."

"Oh, ta," she replied simply, and knelt down in the corridor outside the cell. "How is your back?"

"It is quite well now, thanks to you," he said, his grin relaxing but by no means disappearing. "It has ceased bleeding altogether…" He trailed off, and his eyes drifted. "Er…is that food there in that basket?"

Enna smiled quietly. "Of course it is. Here." She handed it to him through the bars.

"Thank you, Enna," he said sincerely, and attacked the bacon. "How did you sleep, up there in the castle?" he asked between bites.

Enna hesitated a moment before answering, "Oh…well, thank you."

He looked up curiously. "'Well'?"

She bit her lip, then admitted, "I tried to escape."

Aramir nodded slowly, looking at his bacon. "I see. And how did that go?"

"Not…particularly…well."

"As I can tell," he added, arching an eyebrow at her.

Enna blushed. "I feared that the king would have my head if I didn't."

"Did you think that you had offended Their Majesties in some irreparable way?" Aramir asked.

Miserably, Enna nodded.

"Well, I think that I have an obligation as a seaman to tell you that, of all the countries in this wide world of ours…Narnia is the safest. You picked a very good place to stow away to."

"So I have been told."

"Oh?"

"…Someone reassured me that…that my neck was quite secure, in Narnia..."

Aramir laughed, and it made Enna smile, too. "And who was that?"

"…His Majesty the king."

He nodded. "I have indeed been told that the kings and queens are compassionate and quite unassuming."

Enna silently agreed.

Aramir looked at her. "Your hair has been cleaned, has it not?"

"Aye. I bathed."

He began to eat his porridge. "You look quite different under the dirt, you know. I took you for a Calormen. But you are not dark enough for that. And your hair is lighter, too."

"I'm from the isle of Galma."

"I see. That makes sense."

"My mother had blonde hair," Enna went on, "and my father's was as dark as coffee. I think I am right between them."

Aramir nodded. "At any rate, you look well."

"Really?" Enna heard herself saying. Then she blushed. "I mean, thank you."

"It was very kind of you to bring me such food," he added. "I must admit, I was getting rather lonely. I am used to being around many people at all hours of the day."

Enna felt her lips twitching in a smile. "You're quite welcome."

He looked up and returned the grin. A minute passed in silence before he spoke again. "What was it like, being locked up in the brig?"

His words brought a flood of unwelcome memories into Enna's mind. "It was…dark…"

"As I can well imagine."

"And quite damp. There were a lot of barnacles on the walls. I cut myself several times, I think."

He pointed at her cheek. "That must be where that came from."

"What?" she asked, feeling her skin. A tender line of scabbing met her searching fingers, and she remembered resting that very spot against the barnacled wall to sleep. "Oh, aye. I guess so."

"Enna, I hope you don't mind me saying this," Aramir began, "but you seem very kind, too kind to have done this kind of business your whole life, as I have. And yet you have the look in your face of having seen your fair share of difficulty."

Enna, who had felt her guard tumbling down, suddenly found it around her again. "Hasn't everyone?" she answered, standing.

"Oh, don't go," Aramir protested, standing up, too. "I meant no offense. I am simply curious. Disregard my question, if it makes you so unhappy."

But it was too late, for Enna felt her heart constrict and knew she couldn't go on. "Good day, Aramir," she said. "I will see you later."

And she quickly made her escape

--

Naeomi came later that morning with a lovely blue gown to have Enna try on. At first, Enna stubbornly resisted putting on such finery, but after a good half hour of convincing, she agreed. Of course, it was much too small, and Naeomi ran back to the seamstress to fetch a larger, lavender one. It fit Enna in the bodice, but the sleeves and skirt were too short, and Naeomi was obliged to go to the seamstress one last time for a forest green one that fit Enna nearly well enough to wear in public. Enna stood on a stool for a whole hour while Naeomi let out the bodice so it could be buttoned. In the end, however, a panting, red-faced Naeomi brought Enna over to a mirror and forced her to accept the fact that the gown was a nice cut, and the color seemed to work to reverse the browning of her skin, whereas the blue and lavender ones made her look like an absolute savage.

"I hope milady will find this gown enough to her liking so as to wear it to supper tonight," Naeomi said.

Enna tried not to stare too much at the beautiful gown. She had worn nice things once, too, but nothing so fine as the one she had on. "Aye, Naeomi. I will."

"Her Majesty the Queen Susan has ordered that your measurements be taken and a selection of gowns be sewn up for you," Naeomi continued. "Apparently, she was quite indignant when His Majesty the High King informed her that you had a lack of proper clothing. She sent immediately for seamstresses."

Enna was quite taken aback. "Oh—was she cross at anyone?"

"Of course not, milady," Naeomi said, folding her unused pins away in a rag. "She and milady are the same age, you see, and she was only upset that you should be forced to wear…tunics and trousers. Queen Susan is very good."

"Aye," Enna breathed, turning to gaze further on the fine cloth that was sweeping about her ankles. If it had not been for her sunburned and freckled cheeks and untidy plait, she might have imagined herself a lady at a palace.

And so, when she went down to supper with her head high, she fancied that the courtiers whispered amongst themselves, wondering who this mysterious foreign noblewoman was and why she had graced them with her presence. In reality, of course, they whispered that the young woman with the tousled plait and escaping curls was the foreign stowaway rescued by their very own high king from the clutches of an evil, fiendish sea captain who was bent on having her life as recompense for a few mouthfuls of water and salt tack.

Enna heard these grossly exaggerated tales and desperately wanted to set them right, but could not do much but listen while she slipped morsels of aromatic beef pie and mouthwatering gooseberry tart into a napkin for Aramir between bites. Every so often, she glanced up over the heads of the feasting Narnians to see the four monarchs at the front of the hall chatting affably with each other: the coal-headed king would grin and say something with his mouth twisted in a smirk, and the high king and the youngest would laugh in response, while the beautiful queen arched an eyebrow and made a teasing reply. This amiable display made Enna's heart warm, for she and her sister had shared many similar light-hearted conversations when they were young.

But what both puzzled and gratified Enna most of all was the frequency and ease with which a faun—that was what those goat-men were called—or a young centaur or a talking hound would approach the dais to address the kings and queens directly. As she watched, the words that the high king had spoken to her only the night before came to her mind: _"You face no castigation here. Not in my kingdom."_

And she made up her mind right then and there to present herself to Queen Susan and thank her personally for the gowns, and to thank the high king for his kindness. She stood up, but at that same moment, everyone in the room stood as though they possessed one brain and moved to exit the hall. Apparently, supper was over. Her chance had been spent, but Enna felt only a little disappointment. Addressing monarchs was certainly not her favorite pastime! She let herself be carried by the crowd towards the exit.

Suddenly, her name was called, and a warm hand closed on her wrist. Enna turned quickly to see the _high king_ smiling down at her not unkindly.

"I see you have come to join us at sup, Lady Enna."

"You can hardly say that now, as it is concluded," she replied boldly. She flexed her fingers, and he dropped her wrist.

"Quite right, my lady. Then you shall have no qualms about leaving your dinner mates"—glancing at the near-empty table—"to entertain my younger brother for a moment. He is quite excited to hear your impression, and has been for some time."

At this, Enna's heart lurched, leaving her breathless. But the cider she'd drunk had left her blood hot, and she lifted her chin. "Aye, sire. I would be glad to."

"Brilliant," he said, and they went together back towards the dais. Enna's heart beat harder with each step, but she managed to keep her hands folded in front of her and her gaze steady. The coal-headed king stood at her approach.

"Ah, you are Enna," he said, and bowed to her.

Enna's knees bent by themselves, and she curtsied low. "Aye, sire."

"I must say, this is a much nicer introduction than our last one," said the youngest queen. "I prefer these kinds to the others."

"Well said, Lucy," said the high king. "Then let me reintroduce you all to Lady Enna, of Galma."

"Well met, Lady Enna," said the beautiful queen. "I am Susan."

The coal-headed king cleared his throat.

"Oh, all right, _Queen_ Susan, if you _absolutely_ must."

"I'm Lucy," said the youngest. "Oh, Edmund, she already knows I'm queen, why must I say it again? It takes such a dreadful long time to say it all, you know."

"That is my brother, King Edmund," said the high king to Enna.

"Aye, sire, I know you all," Enna replied.

"So," said King Edmund, "Peter here tells us you can give a pretty good imitation of me."

"'Pretty good'?" Queen Lucy echoed. "If I recall correctly, Peter said, quote, 'She sounds more like you than you do, Ed.'"

Enna grinned despite herself, but no one noticed.

"Right then," said King Edmund. "Let us hear it. _Please_," he added when the high king glared at him.

Enna felt a hot blush rise in her cheeks, but she tucked a stray curl behind her ear and repeated, "Right then. Let us hear it—please."

The high king laughed, but the other three stared at her in amazement for a moment, before bursting out in requests.

"Can you mimic animal sounds?" Queen Susan asked.

"Aye, Your Majesty."

"Oh, _do_ mimic a Trallian lark," said Queen Lucy.

Enna did so.

"That's bloody brilliant!" King Edmund cried. "…Do a duck."

"Oh, Ed, that is quite an improper thing to ask a lady to do."

But Enna heard herself imitating a duck, of all things, much to the hilarity of the four kings and queens. She hid her face behind her hands, mainly to hide her embarrassment, but also to hide the foolish grin that had spread itself across her face. She hadn't had this much fun since…well, it had been a long time.

Enna even felt a little disappointed when Queen Lucy began to yawn and the high king suggested that they retire for the night. But the two queens and King Edmund went away with the promise that they would all think very hard of people to mimic and they would test her further in the morning. The high king walked out of the hall with her, chuckling to himself and shaking his head.

"I say, Lady Enna, I never expected…"

"What?"

"I mean to say, it was rather surprising to see you so eager to entertain my siblings tonight. Until now, you have been most quiet in my presence." He paused. "I think it is the new dress."

"Oh, do not blame my foolishness on the fine gown your sister commissioned for me," Enna replied. "My sister loves—that is, she _liked_ to hear me mimic, too. I expect I remembered those times."

"You have a sister, as well?" he asked.

"Aye, sire. I did."

His fair brow furrowed a little. "Why do you use the past tense, my lady Enna? If you do not mind the question, of course."

Enna hesitated, but found the answer spilling out. "My sister died when she was but fifteen years, sire. She fell out of her window…"

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen, sire."

He heaved a deep sigh. "You cannot be much older than twenty. You have my pity, Lady Enna, but not my empathy, for I have not yet known the pain of loss."

"I am eighteen, sire."

At this, he very nearly stopped walking. "By the lion! Enna, that was…so soon!"

"I am fully aware, Your Majesty," Enna answered, struggling to keep the misery out of her voice.

He shook his head in disbelief, and they continued in silence. Enna could remember Laeia like she was standing in front of her, with her long, dirty blonde locks and mouth that was slightly too big for her face. Laeia had never been a bright child, having fallen ill with a terrible fever that ravaged her mind and intellect when she was scarcely a fortnight old, the same fever that took their father. But she was Enna's baby sister, and that was what mattered most. Even on the days when her mother hid away in the shadows of her bedroom and Sabsestrin stalked the hallways, Enna cared for Laeia, washed her sweet little face and dressed her in clean and mended dresses every morning. In turn, Laeia was her ever-present shadow, her little admirer, who followed her every move with a finger stuck in her mouth to suck on, gazing adoringly up at her even at the low points when Enna dearly wanted to push Sabsestrin into the glimmering waters and never see him surface.

Before Enna knew it, tears were stinging in her eyes, and her nose was beginning to drip. She gave an annoyed sniff and jabbed at her cheeks with the sleeve of her gown.

The high king glanced over. "What is that you are thinking of, Enna?"

"Simply of…of this gown and how generous you and your royal siblings are," Enna answered, managing to fight the tears back into the cage she kept them in.

"Oh, think nothing of it. It is our duty to serve and help our people, is it not? And never mind that you are not 'our people,' per se. You have been granted sanctuary here, and should we not fulfill it to the full extent of its definition?"

"Aye, sir," she said. "You are very kind."

He actually blushed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Please, Enna, I hear nothing but false compliments and put-on admirations all day. I think I shall go mad if I hear one more!"

"…Your Majesty is so very modest," Enna couldn't help but say.

He snarled to himself. "Oh, my lady, if only I had not granted you sanctuary!"

Enna grinned, and this time he saw it.

"My lady smiles? Pray tell, what kept you from such a pleasurable pastime previously?"

"Perhaps His Majesty's wit did not entice me to it," Enna replied, cheekily.

The king laughed out loud, looking joyously flabbergasted. "I see. Well, my ladyship, I profusely apologize and shall strive day and night to improve my humor, and I shall make every effort to raise it to my lady's standards."

He made a ridiculously low bow.

"Aye, sire," Enna answered, countering his bow with a curtsy. "In return, I shall practice my polite smile in the mirror so it is ready to be presented upon display of Your Majesty's so-called 'repartee.'"

At this moment, a furry little she-faun came around the corner and bowed upon recognition of the king. "Good evening, sire," she squeaked.

"And to you, Uia," he replied solemnly.

The faun bowed again and scurried away.

"I shall prove to you tomorrow that I am a wit, Enna," the king said to her. "You have my word."

Enna stopped in front of her door. "Aye, sire. I quite look forward to witnessing such a spectacle."

He smirked, and she put her hand on the doorknob. "Good night, Enna."

"Good night, sire." She turned to go in.

"Oh, and Lady Enna?" he asked in a quieter voice. "I…I would like to see you smile more often. You look so happy when you do. I…erm…yes." He turned quickly and went away down the hall.

Enna mulled over this in her mind for a moment, before putting her hand to her mouth and going into her room, smiling experimentally.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The first thing Enna thought of when she woke was the napkin of tasty morsels she'd set aside for Aramir…where were they? She'd had it when she went up to the kings and queens…hadn't she?

She sat up, blinking in the sunlight from the windows, her conscience paining her terribly. Not only had she forgotten to bring it to the poor youth, but she'd forgotten him altogether! Her own pleasure-seeking had forced any thought of Aramir right out of her head.

She groaned and kicked back the thick blankets. There was still a stain on her palm from where she'd held the gooseberry tart. "Foolish, foolish girl!" she said out loud, getting up and beginning to search her chambers. The little package was not on her little desk, not in any drawers, not on the mantelpiece…nowhere! Enna chastised herself sharply and picked up the dress she'd worn yesterday and draped over the back of the chair.

A little white bundle tumbled to her feet from the gown's many folds then, and Enna realized happily that it was the food. But upon closer inspection, she realized it was quite empty, containing only scraps of the meat pie and blotches of dried gooseberry. Where was the actual tart? A sick feeling settled in her throat, and she dared to look down at the front of her gown…

She found it, smeared down the side of the skirt. With a whispered oath and a hand on her forehead, Enna remembered that she'd held it on her lap during supper. It must have spilled! And she had gone up to the kings and queens with the purple mess all over her!

_I think it is the new dress,_ the king had said to her after a pause, and Enna realized with a jolt of horror that it had been with a humored twitch of his lips!

"Oh, in the name of the honored Gale himself," she snarled, slapping her forehead a few times in succession. She sank onto the bed, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head back and forth. "Why with the king? Why? I would that it had been anyone but the king."

There was a rap at her door, and without thinking Enna stood and called for the person to enter. Naeomi came in, a bundle under her leafy arm.

"Good morn, my lady."

"Hello, Naeomi," said Enna. "Er…Naeomi, I fear I was quite foolish last night, and…" She held up the dress, unable to say out loud that she'd been clumsy and forgetful.

Naeomi gave her a sharp look. "Then my lady must count her blessings, for the seamstress has finished a number of gowns for you, enough for a few days, at least. And I will wash that." She took the dress from Enna's hands and bound it up, then put the bundle of gowns out and began to fold them neatly into the trunk at the foot of the bed. "Does my lady desire to wear the yellow gown today?"

"Aye," said Enna, not really wanting to but unwilling to confront the dryad.

Naeomi yanked her nightgown off quite alarmingly but quickly replaced it with the corn-yellow gown, then proceeded to tie the stays much too tight.

"Naeomi, I beg you, loosen it!" Enna gasped, drawing in her stomach and pressing down her bosom in an effort to find relief.

"I will not have it get around that the Galmanian under my care cannot follow the simplest rules of Narnian fashion," Naeomi replied. "Isn't it quite enough that milady gallivants around the palace with _tart_ splashed on her dress like a common wench? Must you now prance up and down with your finely tailored dress hanging about you like a shipsail?"

Enna felt her blood flow hot, but she repressed the angry words that threatened to surface and suffered silently through the rest of Naeomi's ministering. As soon as the ill-tempered maid swept out of the room, however, Enna reached around and undid the ties completely and stood for a moment, sweating and panting, before redoing them again to a tightness that suited her perfectly.

After pulling on the only shoes she had (the salty leather boots that had belonged to Sabsestrin), Enna plaited her hair in front of the small mirror and wondered how to go about fixing her tart blunder. The more she thought about it, though, the crosser she got at the nerve of the high king.

"How dare he not tell me!" she cried, glaring at herself in the mirror. "Nay—he _laughed_ at me!" Indignant pink blotches appeared high on her cheekbones, darkening the sunburn there, and she turned away with a deep breath. 'Twould do no good to get her blood up, not at all. It would only get her into more trouble, if past experience was any indication.

Enna nodded slowly and gazed out of the wide open window. A brisk breeze was blowing enormous white clouds across the bright blue sky, and the sea was glassy calm. A tern cried somewhere out of her sight. There was a tang in the air just discernable above the scents of brine and salt that suggested rain later on, and Enna leaned out and breathed deeply of the familiar smells.

_I wonder if I would be allowed out of this castle after what happened,_ Enna thought to herself. _I would very much enjoy a walk. Narnia is beautiful, in a different way than Galma._ She gazed off to the south over the rippling water, and thought for the first time in several months about her mother. Was she well? Enna remembered how thin she had looked in the weeks prior to her escape. With a sick wrench in the pit of her stomach, she wondered if Sabsestrin had resorted to using her mother as he had used herself…at least Enna had fought back, enough to keep him at bay, but had her mother been able to fend him off? They were married, yes, but that wouldn't stop Sabsestrin…

Enna felt bile rising in her throat, and she lowered her head to her hands. _Fool! Don't think about that anymore. I've left it behind, now._

She then decided it would be good to leave the castle for a little while, just to get her head about her again, looking like she was wearing a shipsail or not.

--

Before she knew it, Enna was outside, under the warm sun, alone and unhindered. Apparently, it was quite a normal thing in Narnia to up and leave the castle to wander the rolling hillsides. The faun at the gate had even suggested she go west, for the Great River left a lush floodbank that was a comfort to tired eyes. Enna had decided she would indeed walk there, but first she would go down to the shore and dip her feet in the chill seawater.

The sand was hot, but the wind sighing off the water was cool, and she turned her sunburned face up to it. It smelled sweet, as though it carried bits of the tranquil, unconcerned life on some Eastern island.

Enna sighed heavily, pushing her memories of Galma back into the darkest corners of her mind.

"Are you unhappy, Enna?"

Enna jumped, stepped on the hem of her gown, and fell backwards into the kelp-encrusted sand. Aramir stood over her, trying hard not to grin. "Great Gale, Aramir, have some care and announce yourself before you are in my ear," she said crossly when she recognized him, grudgingly taking his proffered hand and regaining her footing.

"I apologize," he replied. "I thought you'd heard me."

Enna hadn't, but she wouldn't admit for the world that she'd been thinking of the home she'd sworn to forget. "Oh. I…the wind must have taken your voice…"

"Aye," he answered. "It smells like a storm. Winter is coming on."

She nodded. October, by the calendar—but he was a sailor, after all. Knew the seasons by the look and feel of the sea.

"But I asked if you were unhappy."

Unhappy? Of course! Her destination was miles away, but she was landbound until a passenger ship opened up. When would that be? "I am not terribly discontented," she answered cagily. "Why?"

He looked askance at her. "Because you were sighing."

"May I not sigh?" she replied saucily, her guard beginning to go up.

"Nay, it's not that," he said. "I just…never mind. I can see this conversation is pointless."

Aramir's tone was slightly perturbed, and Enna was humbled. She bowed her head and felt a little remorseful—after all, she hadn't been her nicest to him. "I'm sorry," she said in a low voice. "Please, go on."

Aramir knelt down and ran his fingers through the soft sand. "I just don't think that…well…I believe that we—if you will pardon my familiarity—are intended to stay here."

"Yes, by the kings and queens."

"Nay, not them," he countered, finding a seashell and flipping it out into the water. "By someone—something—higher than that. Why else would we be grounded in a foreign country, Narnia, of all places? Where the kings and queens take great interest in our comfort? I don't mean to abuse my countrymen, but the Calormenes are not famed for their hospitality to foreigners. Archenland will be cut off from the outside world once the snows come. But we are here, in Narnia, where the winters are harsh but not insurmountable or long. And the monarchs are kind to us, and the food is good, and the people are peaceful."

Enna listened quietly, and his words made more sense than she'd expected them to. She dug the toe of her shoe deeper into the warm sand, thoughts churning rapidly in her mind. "I see…and you really believe this?"

"Aye, I do," he answered, looking up at her with intense eyes that reminded her uncannily of the captain's.

"But I do not wish to be here at all, Aramir," Enna replied sharply. "It cannot be in—in someone's plan to force me into yet another circumstance I wish to leave! Are you saying that someone decided I would be _locked_ in a ship and _starved_?"

"Perhaps, Enna," he rejoined, standing up and letting a handful of sand sift between his fingers and be blown away by the wind. "Think about it. It is too coincidental to _be_ a coincidence!"

"All right," she snapped, uncrossing her arms and looking him dead in the eye. "Say all this was true. _Why_ are we here? What are we to do? I can see nothing but eating and sleeping and having these existential discussions."

"Forgive me," Aramir said after a pause, "but I do not know what the word _existential_ means."

"Relating to or concerning the matter of human existence," Enna replied automatically, crossing her arms again and looking out at the ocean.

Aramir sighed audibly. "I do not know, Enna. I have no inkling whatsoever why we are here. I can only guess."

"And what is your guess?"

He shook his head. "Perhaps it is to teach us a lesson. I do not know."

"I believe that I have been taught enough lessons for one lifetime, thank you," Enna retorted. She then turned and walked back towards the castle, leaving the young man to skip pebbles across the water, rage bubbling just beneath her surface. How dare that uneducated seaman try to tell her the meaning of her life? He was a simple sailor, and she the daughter of a dead but rich merchant. Who, between the two of them, had more qualifications to speculate on her destiny?

_"Me,_" she hissed aloud. "Me! Not him, and not anyone else."

Enna realized as she reached the crest of the cliff that she had forgotten to congratulate Aramir on his release from prison, but her exit had been swift and perfectly timed. She was not going to ruin that and risk humiliation to go back to tell him. That would simply have to wait.


	12. Chapter Twelve

It began to rain soon after Enna returned to her room in the castle. She pulled the little rickety chair up to the window and watched the clouds gather over the ocean, and breathed in the sweet, musty air as droplets of water dripped down the opened shutters. The weather matched her mood almost perfectly.

_I cannot believe Aramir's nerve,_ she thought to herself. A crack of lightning split the sky, filling the little room with white light for a fraction of a second. _How dare he speculate on why I'm here?_ The rain continued, beating down on the stone walls with viciousness.

A moment later, a thunderclap rang out and Enna felt the ground tremble beneath her feet. A horse whinnied from afar. _Great Gale, this is quite the violent storm,_ she mused, standing up. _Perhaps I should close the window._

At that moment, there was another lightning crack, and the thunder that accompanied it made Enna's ears ring. The ground shook, and she stumbled backwards, nearly dropping the flickering candle in her hand.

There was a sickening crack from overhead. Enna threw her head back, staring at the ceiling.

_"By the lion!_" came the cry from rooms around hers. The stormy sky outside seemed lit as with an unearthly light.

And then she saw why. _Fire!_

Flames licked across the oaken ceiling with snaps that sent burning embers plummeting down into Enna's room. She stared in horror at them for a long moment, still sprawled on the floor, the smoking candle clutched in her sweating hand.

There suddenly came a feverish pounding at her door. "Fire! Fire! Flee for your lives!"

Enna found her head again and leapt to her feet. The room was getting unbearably hot, and the damp wind blowing in from the open window did nothing but fan the flames and blow them onto the mahogany desk and from there to her bed. With absolute horror, Enna watched the orange monster creep across the covers to the chest at the foot.

_Queen Susan's gowns!_

The candle fell from Enna's hand with a thump, and she ran forward with her hands wrapped in her skirts, beating at the flames until beads of sweat rolled down her temples and her lungs burned with smoke. But the fire was too hot for her blistered hands to contain long, and with a loud and stomach-turning pop, the bedpost opposite where Enna was standing succumbed to the flames and toppled backwards, tearing away a curtain and smashing through the open windowpane. The glass tinkled to the floor and the flames ate up the fallen linen.

Enna watched in horror as the bed was consumed in snapping tongues—a lost cause. The chest was not ablaze yet, but she was kept away from it by the fire burning on the little woven rug between them. She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her clammy hand, considering the scene before her and coughing the increasing smoke out of her lungs. The door was unbarred and stood between her and safety, but the chest was filled with valuables that might be precious to the king or his three siblings.

The ground abruptly began to shake, knocking the painted scenes off the mantle and onto the floor, where they went up in flame. Enna struggled to keep her balance. Stones were being shaken loose from the walls—!

Suddenly, violently, the tower gave a mighty tremble in the wind, and then the ceiling on the opposite side of the room groaned and gave way. Stones and mortar from the stories above toppled down onto the floor, and spilled out to continue plunging down the outer wall and then into the sea with distant splashes.

Then all was silent. The rain blew into the room in hard sheets with mournful sighs from the gaping hole where the western wall had once been, snuffing out the angry flames that were still snapping and crackling. Hazy smoke rose up from the charred remnants of the desk and bed, and there were soft hisses when a raindrop landed on a glowing ember.

Enna was frozen in disbelief, gazing upon the utter ruin around her. The tower had crumbled in upon itself, and only fate had spared her from death.

The wind was dying and the rain intensified, pouring into the room and quickly soaking her through to the skin. She stood, shivering, for a long moment before going over slowly and picking up the chest, feeling as though she was moving through a dream. Her arms shook as she carried it back towards the door, but it barely registered that it wasn't because of the chest's weight.

Enna opened the door and went out into the deserted hall, where the remnants of the floors and ceiling above littered the ground. It was raining heavily here, too, and she hunched her shoulders and carefully picked her way down the cracked staircase.

When she reached the door that led to the main castle, it briefly crossed her mind that she had come mere inches from the threshold of death, and toed it ever so slightly. One misstep could have pitched her forward into that vast black realm of uncertainty.

She shivered and opened the door.

"Lady Enna!"

A cry rang out through the corridor, where a few dozen people were packed, looking dirty and tired. The high king pushed through the crowd and came just short of running smack into her, his blue eyes raking her up and down and his face white and strained. "Are you injured, Enna? What happened?"

A shudder of exhaustion ran up Enna's spine, and she put the chest down, unable to carry it any longer. "No…no…I'm all right…"

The king looked unconvinced, and he caught her blistered hands, a sorrowful sigh coming from his throat as he looked at them. "Oh…by the Lion, Enna…I'm sorry. This has never happened before…come and get some help."

He led her over to a centaur, who wrapped a blanket around her and began to tend to her red and ravaged palms. "What happened, Enna?" he asked, kneeling beside her.

Enna's throat ached from the smoke, but she wiped the rainwater off her cheeks with the blanket and said, "Well, I think the tower was struck by lightning. Things began to catch fire…"

King Peter looked angry. "By the lion's mane! That has never happened to Cair Paravel, not once. I'm shocked, to say the least."

"It wasn't your fault, sire," Enna said. Then the sudden remembrance of what had happened the day before flashed through her mind. "Though I'll tell you what was!"

The king looked surprised. "Oh?"

She fixed him with a steely look. "You didn't tell me I'd…I'd spilt, sire. You let me go about my business like nothing was wrong!"

He looked genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry, Enna," he said. "I didn't think anything _was_ wrong. I thought it looked quite amusing."

"Oh, that's bloody all right, then," she snarled. Then, realizing what she'd just said, she winced and added, "I mean…er…" She petered off, not being able to think of a single thing.

"You have my sincerest apologies, Enna," the king said in a wounded sort of way.

Enna was about to respond sharply when the centaur tending her injuries made a wrong movement and twisted at her hands. The inflamed skin split at the site of the blunder, and it was only with the strongest of wills that Enna was able to keep from shrieking in the king's face.

"Be more careful, if you please," he snapped at the poor centaur, who shrank from his sudden fury.

Enna blinked away tears of pain and pinched her lips between her teeth against the raw aching in her palms. She focused on the actions of the centaur dabbing the blood off with a towel. "Really, sir, don't blame her. It was an accident."

She didn't dare look at him, but he gave a barely audible sigh and said, "You're right. I'm sorry, Sodria."

"'Twas nothing, sire," the centaur answered loyally.

The high king put his arms around his legs and rested his forehead on his knees. "By the lion _and_ the Emperor…" he said, his voice muffled. "I'm sorry, Enna, I really am. About last night _and_ today. I swear, I never saw that coming. And you'd just gotten settled in!"

He looked so acutely vulnerable that Enna felt rather pressed to be cheerful. "Oh…don't, sire," she said. "No one knew. And I managed to get that chest out, so that must be worth something, don't you think? And the clothes your sister so kindly commissioned for me were in there. Nothing was burnt! Well, save the furniture…and the ceiling…and those nice paintings on the wall."

He lifted his head and smiled slightly. "My sister painted those. Lucy. She's rather artistic."

Now Enna felt even worse. "Oh…oh, aye, sir, she's very talented."

There was silence, and the centaur finished binding her hands and left before the high king could snap at her again. Then the king rolled to his knees. "Well, Enna, I sincerely apologize, once again. I can only thank the lion no one was killed."

She nodded, flexing her fingers and looking at the strange-feeling bandages.

The king twiddled his fingers, sighed, then got up with a groan and walked away. Enna watched his booted feet go down the crowded corridor, stopping occasionally to speak to a Narnian, then going out the door and disappearing from sight.

Enna put her head down and pressed her aching palms to her eyes. _Great Gale…I nearly died. Inches from that fathomless abyss…great Gale. Great Gale._


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_A/N: Hello, everyone! How's your week been? Mine's been pretty good—look at this quick update! Aren't y'all proud of me? :D In other news, the one-and-only Schmo is coming from South Dakota to visit me and Schmurf (our buddy and co-writer for the _Funny Farm Chronicles)_ on Sunday! Woohoo! So anyway, here's Chapter Thirteen, enjoy._

_--_

_"Enwynna! Enwynna!"_

_Enna looked out into the courtyard at the sound of her name and saw her father waving. "Hello, Pappata!" she cried, returning the gesture enthusiastically._

_He held his arms out to her. "Come and show me how your lessons are faring, little larkspur."_

_She clambered up on the rail and leapt without a second thought, landing right in his arms. "Oh, Pappata," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm so tired of lessons. Why can't I just speak _this _language? Why must I learn Galmanian?"_

_"Because it's your heritage, Enna," he answered, grinning. "Imagine how pleased your grandfather will be when you greet him with 'Arya muis, Grappata!'"_

_"I know how to say that," she replied, making a face. "I can say 'hello' and 'goodbye' already. But Teacher Ronstadt is making me learn how to name the constellations in Galmanian. It's quite tedious."_

_Her father carried her out of the autumn air into the library, where the windows revealed the sea stretching out for thousands of miles under the bright blue sky. "I must admit, that seems a little superfluous."_

_Enna leapt from his arms and pressed her nose against the glass of the window. "Pappata, when will you take me on a merchant trip with you?"_

_"If I've told you once, little larkspur, I've told you a million times," he sighed, coming to stand next to her. But Enna wasn't fazed, hearing the pride in his voice. "On your eighteenth birthday, if you aren't wed, you shall accompany me."_

_Enna smeared her hands over the window in frustration. "But Pappata, that's over _ten whole years _from now!"_

_"Merchant trips are dangerous, Enna," he replied._

_"But Pappata—"_

_"Enwynna Stalresin," he said warningly._

_Enna shut her mouth._

_"Vatorian."_

_Her father turned, and Enna noticed a shadow of displeasure cross his face before he smiled. "Hello, Sabbie, little brother!"_

_Enna's heart leapt. "Uncle Sabsestrin!" she cried, running across the room and flinging herself into the younger man's arms. "Arya muis, irdelpho Sabsestrin, guds uin!"_

_Her uncle grinned and kissed her cheek and nuzzled her neck with his beard until she laughed. "Arya muis, fim juid yerta Enwynna!"_

_She wrinkled her nose in thought. "I don't know what that means, Uncle Sabsestrin," she said._

_Her father took her from his arms and held her close. "Yered verargert kurdis lostra-hren barden, Sabsestrin."_

_"Kurdis lostra? Hudst jargis gant."_

_Enna looked back and forth between the two men, confused. "Pappata," she began, but her father set her down on her feet. _

_"Run along, sweetheart, and play with your mama for awhile."_

_"But Pappata, her belly's too big!"_

_"Then bring her a rose and a daisy, Enwynna."_

_His tone was carefree, but he had used her full name, and so she scampered from the room._

_When she was clear of the library, the men began talking. "Vatorian, I've just had it from Roak. The Isles of Endis are opening up for trade."_

_"Sabbie, how many times must I tell you this? The Isles are too dangerous."_

_Enna stopped. This sounded interesting! She snuck back along the corridor and stood just outside the door._

_"But they're open. Do you know what riches lie within?"_

_"Yes, little brother," her father answered, sighing. "But they are also notorious. Thieves, pirates, poisonous plants, dishonest citizens…"_

_"Mere trifles," Uncle Sabbie said. "Emeralds, jade, wool of the finest order, spices, gold."_

_"I've also had it from Ladendver Brant that the air there is toxic. His cousin took ill with a mysterious fever after going there on the prince's business."_

_"Old wives' tale," her uncle dismissed it. "Perhaps the sea trip did not agree with him. Think of all the riches, Vatorian! You could send darling Enna away to school, and hire the best doctor in the realm for the birth of your next child."_

_"I am very rich, Sabbie," her father replied. "I could send Enna away to school sevenfold times and still have enough to care lavishly for myself and my family in our old age. Enna, should my wife never birth a son, will be a very wealthy young lady."_

_"I thought I was your heir," Uncle Sabbie protested with a surprising crack in his voice._

_"I mean to change that," Pappata replied. "Enna has proved to be a highly intelligent young girl, and I am proud of her. There is no reason for her inheritance to be kept from her. Besides. I'm not planning on dying anytime soon. I shall have years to teach her and train her in the ways of money."_

_"Vatorian!"_

_"Oh, Sabbie. You're plenty rich from our father. Why do you need my wealth?"_

_"I don't need it," Uncle Sabbie said evenly. "I just don't think it's wise to give your estate to a girl."_

_"She's as good a son as I could ever hope for," her father replied._

_Enna beamed, and almost ran in to hug him._

_"Have you changed your will and testament, then?"_

_"No, I have not. I must travel to see the prince in order to do that."_

_There was a brief silence. "About the Isles," her uncle went on. "They're…they're closing again in two weeks. Think of it!"_

_"I won't."_

_"The prince has added it to his list of accepted trading posts. The prices will be even. It's only a three-days' sail from here."_

_"He's added it?" Her father sounded interested._

_"Oh, yes. At the top of the list, too."_

_"Hmm. I might look into it, then."_

_"You'd better hurry, it closes again in two weeks."_

_"Well, I might go down and see my ship manager about it. Perhaps I shall go now."_

_There were footsteps, and Enna leapt to hide behind a potted fruit tree. "Thank you, Sabbie. I owe you one."_

_The two men walked out of the room. Her father went down the corridor toward the door, and Uncle Sabbie watched him go. Though Enna was hiding in the boughs of a young sapling, she could still see the smile forming on his lips._

_--_

Enna woke suddenly with a sharp breath to find herself hanging halfway off the cot in the hall where she'd been put the night before. She drew a deep breath and hauled herself back onto the bed, rubbing at her dress where clammily cold sweat had gathered. A few dark shapes nearby mumbled and turned over in their sleep, and Enna shoved her mussed hair back off her forehead, sighing away the sharp ache in her breast as she stared up at the black ceiling.

"Oh, uncle," she murmured. "How could you?"

"Quiet," came an annoyed voice.

Enna turned over and hid her face in her pillow, recalling how her Pappata had come home, rich but oddly weak and feverish. Two days passed and then he was dead.

She remembered how strange his face had looked when they'd buried him in the dune sand: white and limp, nothing like he had been. Mama had cried for days, and then little Laeia, just two weeks old, took sick and was never right in the head after that. Three months later, Mama and uncle were wed, and Enna's inheritance was given away to him.

She shoved the heels of her hands into her eyes, fighting back the rage that struggled to burst forth in a primal snarl. All of it was gone—all of it! Spent on his foolish horses and sent to foreign places to pay faceless creditors for his gambling debts. Not a single _ducas_ was left to Enna or her mother. All her education had come from the finite mind of her mother, in the dark shadows of the night when Sabsestrin was asleep or away.

_Someday I shall take my vengeance on him,_ she thought to herself as her lids began to droop again. _Should it kill me or not, I will repay him for what he has done._

--

The next morning brought yet another apology by the youngest queen. "Milady Enna, I am so sorry for the trauma the fire must have caused you," Queen Lucy said, eyeing Enna's bandaged hands when the two happened upon each other in the corridor.

"'Twas nothing, Your Majesty, really," Enna answered, feeling her face heat up.

The queen's eyebrows tilted upwards, but she patted Enna's shoulder with a gentle hand before sweeping off to do some royal thing, no doubt.

Enna sighed as she continued on her aimless walk. Her palms were aching and chafing beneath the bandages, but there was nothing that could be done about that.

"Hello, Enna."

She turned to see Aramir, his hands in his pockets, walking towards her. "Good morning."

"I heard what happened to your tower last night. I'm glad to see you're all right."

"Thank you," she answered.

"It looks terrible," he replied, coming to walk abreast of her. "The tower, I mean. The whole thing crumbled top down, and it seems to have stopped right at your floor. You…you're extremely fortunate, that's all I can say."

He shook his head in private awe. "Someone must really want you to be alive for something."

This reminded Enna nastily of their previous conversation. She decided not to pursue _that_ happy subject again, so she said, "I see. Did you hear it…collapse…from where you slept?"

He shrugged and raked his hand through his short, dark hair. "Honestly, I was asleep. Thought I heard something, but when I woke, nothing was wrong, so I went back to bed. I found out about it this morning."

"You must have been tired, going to sleep so early," Enna said, attempting to be conversational. "The sun was scarcely down when the storm blew in."

He nodded. "I did not go back inside after our…um…after our chat. I instead went down to the docks that the _Seacharger _moored at to look at the ships there."

Enna looked at her feet, feeling the uncomfortable rise of shame in her throat. She should most certainly apologize for her appalling behavior. "Aramir, I…" But her voice trailed off of its own accord, and she grimaced to herself.

Aramir did not press her. Instead, after a brief pause, he said, "You look terrible."

"Well, thank ye kindly, sir."

He gave a handsome half-grin. "Sorry. What I meant is…is…well, you _do_ look terrible. It might seem as though you haven't slept in days."

Enna shrugged. "It was the smoke. It got in my lungs and I feel ill for it."

Aramir nodded slowly, but Enna could tell that he wasn't convinced. Oh, well. Neither was she.

"I'll be going now, if you don't mind," he said after a while. "I'm going to speak to Peter."

"Who?" she asked blankly.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "The king."

"You're calling him by his first name?" she asked, shocked at Aramir's nerve.

"He asked me to, when we speak in private."

Enna, still surprised, bade him farewell, and they went their separate ways. While Aramir went to speak with the high king, she continued on her lonely walk, lost in thought.

Why did she feel so strange? It was as though her very spirit had left her; she felt limp and emotionally stale. _This is a very disconcerting sensation_, she thought with a shudder, _feeling so...so…detached. That's the word. I feel detached._

The fact that she'd been able to place a word on her mood made her feel a little better, but the lift in mood was all too brief. It was as though a shadow was sitting across her shoulder, and nothing she could do would shake it off.

She shook her head violently. _This is all Sabsestrin's fault! _she thought heatedly. _If only he hadn't—_

Enna's pace increased. She must stop thinking of him, she must stop dwelling on the past. _I did not escape just to sulk,_ she thought determinedly, drawing her shoulders back with self-pride.

Starting now, she would do everything in her power to forgot old What's-His-Name back home in Whatever-That-Place-Was-Called. A new life called for new memories. So she would make them here, in Narnia.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_A/N: Guess who's in my room, guys? That's right, it's Schmo! Please enjoy this exclusive interview with her:_

_SUSHI: Hi, Schmo!_

_SCHMO: Hi._

_SUSHI: Okay, great. On with the story!_

_--_

That very day, Enna went out of the castle and followed a faint path that had been worn into the grass. It was a gorgeous afternoon, with a brilliant blue sky and fluffy white clouds that drifted lazily overhead. The meadows and cliffsides were blanketed in the last of the autumn wildflowers, and a cool breeze sighed through the browning grass, taking Enna's plait and enticing little curls to escape from it and tickle her cheeks. The only blemish on the day was the jagged tower, jutting darkly into the sky, and the still-smoky smell that pervaded the air around it, invading Enna's nostrils and clogging her throat.

But there were already creatures hard at work on the repairs, and Enna thought for a moment that she saw the dark head and youthful, freckled face of the king Edmund among them, red and sweaty with exertion as he lifted rubble and cleared rooms.

The path continued down into a glen, carved into the stone that formed the peninsula's base, carpeted with dark October grass and a few sprinkles of purple sea pea. There, nestled at the base of the hill on which the majestic castle stood, was a neatly kept grazing pasture, where the talking horses who lived in the castle were allowed to roam about in.

Enna ventured slowly into the naturally enclosed arena and situated herself comfortably atop a large, moss-covered boulder to watch the beautiful animals go about their grazing business about in their secure, lazy ways.

There was one fat little pony feeding up near the swell of the hill on the opposite side of the meadow that reminded Enna of her childhood pet and companion, Topsie. She watched it munch the apples that had fallen from the tree just over the ridge and waddle about with quiet delight, hugging her knees to her chest and quite enjoying the feel of the warm sun on her sore shoulders.

Suddenly, there was a flash of movement on the rise, and Enna started, her booted feet slipping off the rock and all her muscles tensing. A great, hulking form was skulking in the shadow of the apple tree, slinking slowly over the ridge, its large, unblinking eyes glowing dimly in the half-light of the shade.

Enna scrambled backwards a little, her heart up in her throat. Why didn't any of the horses notice? Why were they all still grazing contentedly?

The shape kept coming, stealing into the sunlight, revealing a muscled, tawny hide and a head that was fringed in a thick swath of hair. It looked like a huge cat, with lethal claws and a snarling mouth.

Enna was trembling all over by now. As she watched, it raised its head and looked _right at her, _its dark eyes seeming to bore right into her soul. Slowly, but steadily, it lifted its heavy lips, revealing row upon row of sharp, gleaming teeth. Its head was low between its shoulders, and Enna got the distinct feeling that it was snarling deep in its throat.

She slid off the rock inch by inch. If the horses didn't notice the huge beast, then they wouldn't try to protect her from it—it was high time for her to be getting back to the safety of the castle, anyway.

The instant her feet hit the grass, however, the beast's body tensed, and it let out a roar that echoed from every rock face and slope in the valley. The next moment, the beast was gone, but Enna's utter terror wasn't. She stumbled forward off the rock and fled blindly the way she had come; but the very next thing she knew she collided with a solid object and found that object's warm hands closing firmly on her shoulders.

"Enna. Enna!"

A quick shake accompanied the words, and she looked up to see the high king's alarmed face looming above hers. "Oh! sire. I did not…did not—not see you—"

"What's the matter, Enna?" he said. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"I…no," she answered, shaking her head numbly. "Not a ghost."

"Then what?" he pressed.

She took several deep breaths and felt her heartbeat begin to return to a normal rate. "It…it looked like a grossly overgrown cat, my liege. The beast had a fringe of hair round its head…and terribly sharp teeth…it was a great, tawny monster. Over there, on the ridge by the apple trees."

"A lion," the king said breathlessly. He released her and took a few steps in the direction that she had indicated. "Did He say anything to you?"

Enna shook her head. "No, sire, but he did roar most ferociously."

"When?" he asked, looking at the grazing horses. "I did not hear His voice, walking the path. Nor did I see Him."

"Who, sire?"

The king watched the ridge for a moment or two more, but the beast did not reappear, and his shoulders drooped a little as he turned back to her. "No one, lady Enna. But…I believe you may have glimpsed one of the few wild lions left in these parts."

The mere idea of more of the tawny brutes roaming the hills sent an icy chill scurrying up Enna's spine, but she simply nodded. "Aye. A lion, did you call it, sire?"

He nodded, glancing at the ridge once more before giving her his full attention. "I see that you are still alarmed. Have no fear, my lady, for you are in perfect safety now." To prove his words, he drew his sword partway from the sheath at his hip.

As much as she was loath to admit it, the glinting iron did ease Enna's fears a little, and she managed a weak smile. "Aye, sir."

"There," he replied, grinning and sliding the blade back into its scabbard. "Your anxiety is lessened, I can see."

She nodded, rubbing her arms where he had gripped them.

He watched her for a moment. "Do you like horses, Enna?"

"Aye, sire," she responded, a little too eagerly. She blushed, but he only offered her his arm.

"Then allow me to show you our stables. Perhaps it will rid your mind of your fear."

Enna hesitated for a split second before gingerly slipping her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Aye, sire. I would very much enjoy that."

--

_A/N: Wow. That was short. I blame Schmo!_

_SCHMO: Why me?_

_SUSHI: 'Cause you're too much work. I hafta feed you, clean up after you, entertain you…_

_SCHMO: Hey!_

_SUSHI: I mean, it's…'cause you're so much…fun! Yeah!_

_SCHMO: Oh, that's okay, then._

_SUSHI: All right, until next time! I promise the next update won't be so short, guys. You're allowed to slap my wrists with rulers if I go back on my word._

_SCHMO: Really?_

_SUSHI: Not you, no._

_SCHMO: Darn._


	15. Chapter Fifteen

The king was good to his word. He led Enna at a leisurely pace back up towards the castle, his warm and solid arm seeming to bolster Enna's still-unsettled nerves. Her heart was still beating unnaturally fast, but she _had_ had quite the fright, and now was being escorted about by the high king of Narnia. As much as she wanted to, she did not dare observe him, to look him full-on and take in all the interesting dips and creases in his flesh that made him who he was, as she had been able to with Aramir while he was sleeping. So she instead watched the king's movements out of the corner of her eye, remembering just how terrified of him she had been no more than two weeks before.

Occasionally, as they ascended the sloping path back towards the stone bulwarks of Cair Paravel, she noticed him glancing over at her in a curious, slightly questioning way. He seemed to be pondering something, judging by the faint crease between his brows, but he remained silent for the most part of their journey up the slope.

Upon their approach to the castle, he smiled and opened a small door in the otherwise faceless stone wall. Enna had to duck to get through it, but then she realized that it was a grooms' door, leading right into the neatly kept stables.

Once inside, she looked around with delight at the numerous horses, many of whom were watching her curiously. There were several dappled greys, a few whites, and many others with their heads draped over the stall doors, their ears pricked and alert.

"Good afternoon, there, sire," said one stocky skewbald. "Will you ride today, perchance?"

The king nodded to the horse, coming through the low doorway. "Aye, Earon. I think I might, if Lady Enna here would not mind too terribly."

Enna shook her head. "Most certainly not, sire. I was just thinking of retiring to my room, actually."

He glanced over at her, one eyebrow raised. "I was asking if you'd like to come along."

"Oh—_oh!_" Enna said, eloquently. "I mean…yes, I—I'd love to."

"Very well, then," he replied, giving a half-smile. "Can you handle a horse?"

She nodded shyly, then sheepishly displayed her still-bandaged hands. "I could, once, but now…"

He nodded and turned to the horses. "Who would like to assist Enna?"

A dark bay tossed its head. "I would, sire. A breath of air would do me good, I think."

"I would be honored to assist Your Majesty," said Earon, snorting in a decisive way.

"Excellent," the king said, clapping his hands and calling for a groom to help him tack up the horses. "Enna," he went on, leading the bay towards her, "I'd like you to meet Roana. Roana, this is my friend Enna Stalresin."

Enna still wasn't used to being introduced to animals, much less as a friend of the king, but, at a loss of what to do, she dropped a quick curtsy. "How do you do, Roana?" she asked politely.

Roana turned her head and inspected her with one dark eye. "I am well, thank you. How did you come to"—she grunted as a faun threw a saddle on her back and tightened the girth—"meet our king?"

Enna became distinctly aware of the king's sudden interest in their conversation. "I was on a ship sailing from the isle of Galma," she replied evenly. "I was rather unwell, and he had me tended to."

The king chuckled. "Oh, do not be so easy on us both, Enna," he said, coming over to adjust Roana's stirrups.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" she asked, offended. "…Your Majesty?"

"Neither of us were that fortunate, my lady," he answered.

Enna deigned not to answer him.

Roana was looking between them with curiosity. "What do you speak of, sire?"

"Never you mind, Roana," the king said with a teasing severity. "All right, Enna, do you need my help in mounting?"

"No, sire," Enna answered, flipping her plait, and, to prove her point, swung up onto the saddle. Abruptly, it slipped sideways on Roana's back and she slid to the ground with an _oof_ and a large cloud of dust and hay.

The king looked amused. As Roana emitted wheezing guffaws, he offered Enna his hand, which she took grudgingly, saying, "Roana tends to do that sometimes. I apologize on her behalf."

Humiliated, all Enna could do was nod and try not to blush too red as she brushed her skirts clean. The king adjusted the girth and pushed the bay's head back as she nipped playfully at his hands. "Roana, be a good girl and behave. That is a command, do you hear?"

"Yes, sire," the horse replied, still whinnying with laughter.

Enna rubbed her sore backside and mounted the horse again, this time with a bit more prudence. When he was satisfied that she would not fall off again, the king took the skewbald and the bay by their halters and led them from the stable into the courtyard, where he was greeted by the numerous Narnians bustling about with their arms full of blankets or carrying buckets of water or holding dead chickens by the legs.

"Shust, do tell my royal siblings that I have gone for a ride in the hills," he said to a faun trotting past.

"Aye, sire," said he, breathlessly, and hurried on.

"Why are they all so rushed, sire?" Enna asked as the king mounted Earon and kicked him to Roana's side.

"I hired trolls to wield cat-o-nine-tails and be slave drivers so my castle will run efficiently," he answered. "Shall we?"

Enna couldn't help a quiet grin, which she hid behind her hand, and she kicked Roana to follow Earon out of the castle gates.

As the horses ambled down the path, Enna caught a glimpse of a heron winging its way from the sea over the land, its dusky shadow falling upon the waving tops of the vast forests stretching westward. A dark ribbon of blue twisting its way deeper into Narnia marked the passage of the river Enna had heard mentioned once or twice.

The two continued down towards the mainland in silence. It had been a long time since Enna had sat in a saddle, and she quickly recalled how uncomfortable it was as each of Roana's plodding footsteps sent waves of pain radiating up her thighs and lower back. But just as she squirmed every other minute, the king had settled into the saddle as if he'd been born to it, swaying easily with the back-and-forth movement of the horse and holding the reins with a light hand.

After a long silence, during which the horses traversed a mile or two of ground, the king cleared his throat. "Do you like Narnia much, Enna?"

"Aye, sire," she replied, gazing at the vast expanse of forest and plain that stretched out before them.

"Is it much different than Galma?"

She nodded. "Aye. Galma is very sandy, and bright. We don't have many rivers or forests." So saying, she gestured at the vista. "Nothing quite so beautiful."

"Nothing?" the king queried.

"Well, the sea at first light is a sight to be seen," she admitted. "As is the beach after a storm—all sorts of curious objects land on it."

"Like what?"

"Oh…" she sighed, thinking. "Bits of driftwood, shells, sea glass…things like that."

The horses continued down into the dale, the long grasses reaching up through Enna's skirts to tickle her legs. "I can't say I've heard of so-called 'sea glass,' Enna," the king said after a pause. "I'm afraid it must be something native to your island, which, I am sorry to say, I have not yet visited."

"It's molten sand, sire," Enna explained. "When it storms, and lightning hits the beach, it leaves little shards of sea glass where it struck. Sometimes it is collected and polished for use in our homes."

The king nodded. "And was it used in yours?"

"Aye," she replied. "My father had it cut and set into our floor in the most fantastic designs. My mother had a necklace of a piece that had molten over a frond of seaweed."

"Both sound beautiful."

"They were," Enna said with a sigh, remembering.

"Now, your father," continued the king, "was he a sailor, too, then?"

"Oh, no, not a common sailor," Enna answered with a little shock. "Of course not. He was a merchant, sire. And an honorable businessman," she added, looking at him askance.

"Of course he was."

With a rush of chill water that soaked Enna's feet through and through, the two horses plashed across the shallowest part of the river. The king looked at her. "You look rather uncomfortable, Enna. I am either boring you or causing you great physical pain."

"Oh, neither, sire," Enna hurried to insist. "Neither. It has just been a long time since I last rode, that's all."

"I understand perfectly," he replied with a wry chuckle. "The first time I rode a horse was when I was scarcely fourteen, if you would believe that. They were training me for battle at the same time, and my shoulders ached and my head throbbed and I was sunburnt and Edmund had given me a good bash on the shin and my finger had gotten caught in the saddle leather and nearly snapped in half and I thought I would die. Honestly, I did—it was the worst pain I have yet to experience."

Enna suppressed a smile.

"And then I got up before dawn to do it all over again." He rolled his eyes. "I think I finally improved just because I couldn't handle the learning anymore."

Enna looked at him. "Well, sire, it has done you great good. I've read about your deeds, and people talk constantly of the things you and your royal siblings have done."

The king actually blushed, and waved his hand. "Please, I have lived through those deeds, and they weren't nearly as courageous or…or magnificent as people say."

Enna wasn't sure if he was just being modest or if the king was telling the truth. So she just nodded politely and shifted on the saddle, gazing out at the rolling hills and endless forests that stretched for miles and miles beyond the horizon.

After yet another lengthy silence, the king cleared his throat. "So…I noticed that you and your seafaring friend Aramir are not as intimate as I had thought, upon my initial observations."

Rather confused, Enna snuck a glance at the king to find him looking at her. "I…I don't know quite what you mean, sire," she stammered, caught off-guard by his dark blue eyes.

"The way you tended him when his injuries were so deep," the king prompted. "In the dungeon. When I watched you two interact, I was led to believe that you were close."

Taken aback, Enna shook her head. "No, sire, I had never met Aramir before in my life. And I have indeed been rather cruel to him, so that is the source of the ill will between us, if you have sensed any."

"You could never be cruel, Enna," the king said, looking genuinely surprised.

"I mean no disrespect, sire," she replied with a sad smirk. "But Your Majesty does not know me very well."

As a warm breath of air stirred her hair and rustled the grass, the king looked at her, and was silent for a few minutes. Then he took a breath and said quietly, "I would wish that to change, Enna."

She was rather startled at this admission, and she looked at him. For once, he did not turn to look back at her, but rather stared unwaveringly at his hands as though he was afraid to look elsewhere.

Eventually, he did raise his head to face her, and they watched each other rather like children for a few moments. Then he said, trying to sound stern and failing, "And I insist we start with you stopping the foolishness of calling me 'sire' every other word."

"Well, what do you want me to call you, then?" Enna asked, surprised.

"My name might be a good place to start," he replied with good-natured gruffness, and turned his horse's head back towards the castle, obscured by the leafy heads of trees waving in the gentle autumn wind.

"Oh, Your Majesty, I can't call you by your name," Enna cried. "That is extremely disrespectful."

He shot a dry glance at her. "How old are you, Enna?"

"Eighteen, Your Highness."

"There," he said, gesturing impatiently. "We are barely two years apart. Why won't you call me 'Peter'?"

Enna flushed indignantly.

"You call Aramir by his first name, don't you?" the king continued, sounding increasingly frustrated. "Why can't you call me by mine?"

"Aramir is not king, that's why," Enna said forcefully.

"You forget that I share my throne, Miss Stalresin," the king replied, loudly.

"That makes you no less of a king, sire!" Enna cried, her annoyance getting the better of her.

His eyes flashed, but she returned the heated look.

"Your head would be long gone by now, wench, were you in another's kingdom," the king snarled at last.

"Why, because I dared to be respectful?" she challenged.

"Because you're arguing with me about being respectful!" he shot back.

Enna was rendered speechless, and she felt heat rising in her face. Eventually, she found enough courage to say, "…You're right, si—I mean…Peter."

The king had been prepared to make a smart response, but he was caught unawares by Enna's quiet admission. After a moment of stunned silence, he said, "It's all right, really. Now I know what it means when I am told 'A soft answer turneth away wrath.'"

Enna blushed. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes…Peter."

He grinned, and she smiled, and they went back to the castle.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated most appreciatively to MaxRideNut. Thanks so much for everything! You've given me a great springboard._

--

It was a typical Narnian autumn rainstorm, and as cool November droplets falling from the eaves pittered gently against the windowpanes, Enna was seated on a hard wooden chair with a large, slightly dusty volume spread out on a scarred scribe's table in the library, perusing it intently. She was twisting a faded crimson pagemark between her scarred fingers, now healed from their blistered burns, and her slapdash plait dangled over her shoulder as she scraped a few escaping curls back from her face and tucked them behind her ear, resting her chin on her hand.

After a while, she became aware of someone watching her. She turned slightly, tilting back on her chair as she looked down an aisle.

"You looking for me?"

Enna started, and went sprawling on the floor as her chair slid out from under her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, staring up at Aramir's soft grey eyes, now looking rather concerned. She took his proffered hand and stumbled to her feet, rubbing at her bruised hip and blushing in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, really, I didn't mean to startle you," Aramir said, holding out his hands as if afraid she would tip over again. A soft rumble of thunder sounded from outside.

Enna waved him off. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just a bump, that's all." She picked up the chair and set it upright at the table. "Were you watching me?"

"Watching you? No. Observing you, yes."

Enna laughed. "I shan't bore you by exploring the striking similarities between those two terms, my friend."

He smiled in return. "Aye, many thanks."

"What were you observing me for, then?" she asked, brushing her skirts free of dust.

"Wondering what you were reading."

She handed him the volume and continued shaking the dirt off. A silence fell, and she glanced up to see him looking blankly at the gilded cover. "It's a history of Narnia," she said. "I found myself rather curious about it."

"Is it interesting?" Aramir asked, flipping through the pages.

"Oh, aye," Enna replied, taking it back to turn to the spot that the ribbon marked. "Here, it details the great deeds that the four kings and queens did in their youths. I had never heard wind of it from Peter before this. Here, listen—'And thus did the King Peter the Magnificent, Queen Susan the Good, King Edmund the Just, and Queen Lucy the Valiant vanquish the haughty foe and restore peace and justice to the thrones of Narnia.'"

She raised her eyes to his, and he smiled. "Lovely writing."

"Isn't it?" she asked, flipping through the pages. "You ought to read it for yourself."

He came around to look at the words over her shoulder, his hand brushing hers as he tilted the book to see it better. "I'm afraid I can't read."

"You can't?" Enna exclaimed, turning to look at him. "Oh, Aramir, that's simply awful. No one's life is complete until they've read every book they possibly can."

Aramir shrugged, his soft grey eyes on the tome in her hands. "Some might say there are other, more important things in life…"

Enna made a scoffing noise in her throat. "That's rather foolish, in my opinion. Mankind has no purpose in life—the only thing we may do is expand our minds."

A loud crack of thunder made the library windows clatter. Aramir was silent for a few moments, then dropped his hand from where he'd been supporting the book. "You shouldn't say things like that, Enna," he said quietly. "You might just start believing it."

Enna looked up at him, at first unsure of what to say. "Well, what do _you_ think we're here for, then?" she asked finally, unable to keep the challenging tone out of her voice.

He eyed her. "This discussion worked out so well last time we tried, didn't it?"

Enna opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment a she-faun came into the library and bowed low when she caught sight of them. "Lady Enna, there is a man who requests your presence. He awaits you on the Bridge."

Rather grateful for this interruption, Enna curtsied back. "Thank you. I will go to him immediately."

The she-faun nodded and left, and Enna turned to Aramir. "Well, I shall take my leave now."

"Goodbye," he said.

She nodded to him and went out of the cozy library into the hall, where the tall and wide windows stared out at the dark Narnian sky. Flashes of lightning glimmered along the horizon as she hurried along, wondering why in the world the man wanted to meet her on the Bridge, of all places, where the windows had no glass and the wind would be sure to chill their bones.

A few moments passed, and then Enna came upon a man lounging against the wall in the shadow between two windows.

She curtsied, relieved that he had decided to forgo the Bridge. "Hello, I'm Enna Stalresin," she said. "You wished to meet me?"

The man straightened, coming out of the shadows, and Enna fell a few steps back. It was Grigor, with his sly, calculating eyes and thin face, and narrow, bony shoulders that reminded Enna of a waiting buzzard.

She'd recognize her uncle's manservant anywhere.

"Ah, little Miss Enna," Grigor said, smiling and holding out his yellowed hands. "It has been too long…_much_ too long."

Enna stumbled back. "What are you doing here, Grigor?" she asked, trying to sound defiant and failing.

Grigor smiled, showing decaying teeth. "We've missed you somethin' turrible, Miss Enna. Why'd you go and leave us, now?"

Enna did not answer, but fixed Grigor with a rebellious look.

"Yer uncle's gone and worried himself sick o'er you, little Miss," Grigor continued, advancing towards her. "Sent a hun'red ships to a hun'red harbors far as Derforgala and GwenAlarch, he did, in hopes of finding you."

Enna took a step back for every inch Grigor moved towards her, until she was pressed against the wall. "I don't believe you, Grigor, don't lie to me!" Her anxious voice rang out in the hall, echoing up and down.

Grigor smiled. "There, there, little Miss. Why would I lie to you?" He clasped a wrinkled old hand to his bosom. "He's sent a letter out to every prince and king from Galma to the East, asking where you are."

The blood drained rapidly from Enna's head, and she felt her knees grow weak.

"But you needn't worry," he went on in a lower voice, taking her upper arms in a grip that Enna knew only too well could harden into a vise that cracked bones. "Why would I want him to harm you more than he has? Tell me, in all the years I have known you, have I ever willingly put you into harm's way?"

Enna shrank back from his attempted familiarity, the pride born of being a gentleman's daughter rearing up inside her. Of course, she could not think of a specific instance in which Grigor purposefully caused her physical hurt, and she knew that Grigor knew it, as well. She kept her mouth shut.

Grigor smiled again. "I promise, your uncle has absolutely no idea where you are. I shall return to Galma immediately and inform him that you are _not_ in Narnia."

As much as she distrusted Grigor, Enna _had _known him all her life, and she felt her guard slipping a little. "Really?" she breathed.

"Really," Grigor replied. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and withdrew a scroll of parchment from his pocket, branded by a spot of purple wax and her uncle's seal. "He sent a copy of this missive with each of his messengers, entreating them to deliver it to you if you were found."

Enna took it gingerly. Grigor motioned for her to open it, so she did, slitting the seal with baited breath.

_Enna, _it read,

_I, your father's brother and confidant, was besought by him to care for and love with tenderness his two children. I have done my best to that extent, young Enna, feeding you and clothing you and offering you shelter in the home of your births when I was in full legal right to expel you from it forever. _

_But how have you repaid me? With insolence, hate, and ill will. I tolerated it while you were young and undisciplined, but now that you are grown, my patience with your antagonism has reached its limit. I know not where you have gone, nor even if you are still alive. But I swear on the grave of the great Gale that I shall find you and bring you back to Galma, where you are to remain, under my supervision and command. I assure you, no matter which course of action you choose to pursue, you will regret ever stepping foot off the island, if it costs me my dying breath._

_But if, by some miracle, you have not been disfigured by pirates or hit over the brain with a wayward pulley, I shall perhaps have mercy on you and restore you to a place of honor in the Stalresin household, as my wife. Should you displease me by your spite, however, I shall be most unhappy._

_Remember this, Enna, should you think to run yet again from the place where you are._

_Your uncle._

Enna looked up from the letter with trembling hands. "I see," she said, forcing a note of cheer into her voice, determined not to let on how absolutely terrified she now was. "How kind of him."

Grigor bowed slightly, and Enna knew that he had no idea what was in the letter. "I shall return to Galma immediately and inform your uncle that you are nowhere near the kingdom of Narnia."

Enna curtsied weakly, and Grigor left, his leering smile lingering in her brain. As soon as he was out of sight around a corner, she took off at a desperate run in the opposite direction, her plait slapping her back and her long skirts wrapping about her legs and getting caught under her feet. Sabsestrin _was looking for her! _Never in all her nightmares had she imagined this, not _this_!

She rounded a bend in the corridor at full speed, and ran smack into someone, knocking herself sprawling on the floor, breathing in short, uneven bursts. That someone was Aramir.

And she could tell by the look on his face that he'd heard everything.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Enna stared up at Aramir, her heart pounding in her throat, and scrambled to her feet, intent on running as fast as she could a

_A/N: Hey, y'all, this story reached the 200__-__review mark last chapter! Thank you all so much for your support. I get the warm 'n' fuzzies whenever I log in to my email! _

_On another note, this may be the last update for a brief while. School starts for me on Monday, and I have no idea how much work will be piled on me. So maybe we'll get lucky and I'll have time to write, but just a heads-up in case things change. Thanks ever so much!_

--

Enna stared up at Aramir, her heart pounding in her throat, and scrambled to her feet, intent on running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. But Aramir caught her arm before she got very far, and gently tugged her back to stand, trembling, in front of him.

He studied her face for a long moment before saying, bringing his other hand up to hold her arm, "Enna, what's going on?"

She stared mutely up into his emotionless face, his hands pressing into the faint bruises that still lingered on her upper arms. "What do you mean?" she managed finally.

"Who was that man?" he prompted, his grey eyes boring into hers. "What did he want with you? And what is that in your hand?"

Enna shook her head. "No one. Nothing. Just a letter."

"Enna," Aramir said reproachfully."

"It's nothing!" Enna cried. "If you'd be so kind as to leave me be—" She struggled to free herself from his grip as a mighty roll of thunder shook the very earth.

Aramir held firmly onto her arms. "Enna, I _will_ have the truth! To me, it sounded as though you are in danger. Danger, Enna!" His eyes flashed with passion as he spoke.

Enna stubbornly shook her head again. "It doesn't concern you, Aramir."

"But it concerns _you_," Aramir exclaimed. "And that concerns me_. You can't always save yourself_, Enna. Sometimes you need help."

His eyes were earnest, and Enna felt her defenses slowly deteriorating as she looked up into them. "It's my uncle," she said finally, emotionlessly.

Aramir's grip on her arms relaxed to a kindhearted touch. "What about him?"

Suddenly, and without warning, she heard the whole loathsome story come spilling from her lips, and there was nothing she could do to check it.

"I lived with my father and mother on the isle of Galma," she began, dully, dropping her gaze to look at her feet. "My father was a rich merchant. When I was seven, his brother convinced him to sail to the Isles of Endis after learning that the inheritance that was to be his was to be entailed away instead to me, knowing full well what awaited my father there."

Aramir didn't say anything, but he gently rubbed her arms and watched her understandingly.

"Naturally, he fell ill soon after he returned," Enna continued, still keeping her gaze averted. "He died two days later, but not before my little sister took sick with the same fever. She survived, but was never right in the head after that. My mother married my uncle a few months later, and the sum total of my father's estate became his, for my father never got a chance to rewrite his will."

She took a deep breath and shut her eyes. "My uncle was cruel to us. He fired my tutors, forcing my mother to educate me in secret whenever she could. We were reduced to living in clothes that had been grown out of, and I labored in the fields with the servants, under conditions no man or woman should be forced to work in, while he spent the money that my father had put away for our education, our wedding presents, and our inheritances. He beat me and my sister terribly, and tried to—"

Enna broke off, opening her eyes and blinking fiercely. "I don't know what he did to my mother, but she changed, too, and left the job of raising my poor sister to me. I tried to watch out for her, but she was never very smart, and broke her neck this past spring.

"I left Galma soon afterwards, against my uncle's will. He was in a terrible high dudgeon that day, and left the house to be with some friends. When he was gone, I broke the lock that kept us from my father's old study, and stole his finest boots and a man's clothing, and went from the house to the harbor, about an hour's walk. There, I attempted to sign on to a merchant ship under my father's name, but as I was boarding, someone recognized me for a woman and chased me away from the dock. I was forced to steal aboard the _Seacharger_, and went undetected until…well, you know the rest."

With a tremulous sigh, she looked down at the scroll clutched in her hand. "Now, my uncle has decided he would rather scour the seas for me than just forget that I ever existed. He wrote a letter to me, threatening that…that he will bring me back to Galma and make me regret ever leaving. And I'm quite frightened!"

Enna dissolved into tears for the first time since her father died those many, long years ago.

Suddenly, Aramir's arms were firm around her, pressing her close, and as he whispered soothing words in her hair, she felt her stony defenses crumbling into little, tiny pieces at the first real human contact she'd experienced in months. She hid her face in his warm shoulder and bawled like a baby, only too glad that he was willing to lend her his shirt as a handkerchief. What frightful things would Sabsestrin force upon her? She would not go back to Galma peacefully, but what awaited her if she did would be almost worse than what awaited if she didn't.

_Marriage?_

She hadn't even _begun_ to think of that, and the idea that her husband might be her own flesh and blood turned her stomach, sending sick shivers up and down her spine. Did that mean that her mother was—?

She drew a shuddering breath, and Aramir pressed a gentle hand to the back of her head.

"It's all right, Enna," he murmured. "I understand you completely. You're safe here."

Enna recalled the images of the four monarchs sitting majestically on their thrones, ordering the sea captain to leave Narnia forever; the imposing stone bulwarks and fluttering scarlet banners on the ramparts of the castle; the glint of Peter's sword as he drew it out into the brilliant sun.

She nodded against Aramir's shoulder. "He doesn't know I'm here," she mused, her voice muffled by his shirt. "Grigor said he wouldn't tell."

Aramir drew her away and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, looking caringly down at her. "You needn't worry a whit about it, Enna. I won't let your uncle get within a league of you."

Enna opened her mouth to speak, but then someone else cleared their throat, and she quickly detached herself from Aramir's arms. A faun stood before them, his eyebrow raised and mouth twisted disapprovingly. "The high king wishes to see you in the throne room immediately, milady," he said, bowing slightly.

Glancing up at Aramir, who nodded encouragingly, Enna rubbed her eyes a final time and followed the faun down the corridor.

The royal throne room was rather empty when the faun announced her arrival. Peter was seated on his throne, surrounded by two or three advisors, but when he saw her, he waved them out of the room. The faun closed the door behind her with a resounding clang, and she curiously approached the dais.

Peter watched her, and as she drew nearer, she noticed that he held in one hand a scroll, with a purple seal. Her heart leapt to her throat, and she said, "You wished to see me, Peter?"

He looked between her and the scroll a few times, his mouth set in a thin line. Finally, he held the scroll out to her. "Do you care to explain yourself, Lady Enna?"

Enna took the scroll, frowning, and began to read it.

_To Their Most Royal Highnesses Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy,_

_From Their Most Constant Servant Sabsestrin Elyar Stalresin of Galma,_

_Concerning a Matter of Extraordinarily Great Consequence to the Health and Well-Being of Narnia's Most High Rulers:_

_Your Royal Highnesses, the man who pens this missive is a broken one. My home and family has been torn apart by a wretchedly missed member, who stole priceless objects from myself and my wife before absconding to a location unknown to myself. While we hold my niece Enwynna Stalresin, perhaps known to thee as Enna, wholly responsible for the destruction of the beloved family unit that we had so carefully constructed, we miss her dearly, and long for her safe return to Galma._

_The reason for my writing this communiqué is not in my own interest, Most Gracious Majesties, but in thine. My niece is severely deranged, and greatly lacks in the areas of compassion, sympathy, and good sense. My wife and myself fear for the safety of Thy Noble Selves, not to mention that of thy good people. We beg of thee, if Enwynna is residing in your kingdom, rid thyselves of her! She is a pretty snake, a monster in the guise of a girl. Send her home at once, where she might be properly loved and disciplined._

_I remain Thy Most Humble Servant,_

_Sabsestrin Stalresin._

Enna looked at the letter a long while after she finished reading it. How could her uncle stomach such blatant lies? Priceless objects? Beloved family unit? _Severely deranged?_

She raised her eyes to Peter's as he sat on his glittering throne, looking censoriously down at her, a lock of his golden hair slipping forward over his forehead. "Peter, don't tell me you believe this non—"

"Explain yourself, Enna," he cut across her, evenly, but stiffly.

Enna stared up at him. "Peter, my uncle, he—he is lying, unashamedly lying—"

"You have deceived us all, Enna Stalresin!" Peter said, his voice strained as he lurched forwards on the throne. "How dare you lie to us—to _me_!"

"I've deceived no one!" Enna cried.

"How do you explain this horrifying information your uncle so kindly relayed to me?" Peter retorted, gesturing angrily towards the letter crumpled in her hand.

"It's a lie, it's all a lie!" She pleadingly approached the dais, but Peter stood.

"What did you steal from your uncle's house, Lady Enna?"

"Nothing," she said imploringly. "I mean, I took a—"

Peter shook his head. "I've heard quite enough."

"Peter, it was naught but a shirt and trousers!" she cried, tears forming in her eyes again. "You don't understand. My uncle killed my father and married my mother for our money! He _beat_ me, Peter! He is the source of every moment of pain that I have ever experienced. When my sister died, I had nothing left to keep me under Sabsestrin's fist. Had I stayed a moment longer, I would have surely gone mad! _I had no alternative._"

Enna crumpled the letter into a tiny ball and threw it with all her might into the crackling fire nearby. It went up in flame and blazed brightly for a short moment, before crumbling into smoldering ashes and sending a breath of smoke into the room.

"I couldn't kill him," she said, turning to look Peter in the eye. "I couldn't. I wanted to, but by Gale himself, I couldn't bring myself to." And the whole story came rushing out again; it was as if the dark corners of her heart, once exposed to the light of day, could do naught but seek it out again.

When she finished, the room fell strangely silent. She stared at the flagstones under her feet, waiting for Peter's response.

He cleared his throat. "I see."

Tucking a few stray curls behind her ear, Enna looked up at him. "Peter, please say you believe me."

Peter cleared his throat again, went a few paces back and forth along the dais, and eventually sighed, stepping down and coming to stand before her, his hands brushing hers. "I suppose I've _got_ to believe you, Enna; I've known you for going on two months now, and, in all honesty, I was wondering if the Enna in the letter was the same Enna I knew. I apologize, really I do."

She managed a smile.

"I see now why you were so adamant about not returning to Galma," he continued. "Of course, I suppose quite a lot more makes sense, now." He lifted a hand and tilted her chin up to look at him. "You'll stay longer, won't you?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she replied curiously.

"The passenger ship is leaving for the Lone Islands in a few weeks. Please tell me you'll stay, even just a bit longer."

"I'll stay," Enna said, without a moment's hesitation. This surprised even herself, but she smiled.

Peter smiled, too, and traced her jaw with his thumb. Enna realized she was blushing furiously, but it didn't matter; for the next moment he was kissing her tenderly.

A foreign chill ran up and down Enna's spine at the contact, and she stood in one spot, frozen, until warmth gradually began to steal into her appendages again. Peter slowly wrapped his arms about her and drew her close against his chest. Almost despite herself, she went willingly, twitching her lips experimentally beneath his.

She felt more than saw him smile.

At that moment, a door flew open, and a centaur walked partway in before realizing what was going on and stopping suddenly. "Your royal brother wishes to see you in the stables, my liege," he said, hiding his face with one hand.

Peter released Enna, blushing. "Aye, thank you, Ciprian." Casting an apologetic look at her, he squeezed her hand before reluctantly going through the door Ciprian held open. The centaur eyed her suspiciously before closing the door behind them, and Enna slid to the ground, a foolish grin on her face.

Maybe she _would_ stay a bit longer.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

_A/N: Howdy, y'all! I know that this chapter is PAINFULLY short, and I apologize, especially for the lateness. I also know that I use this excuse a lot, but school is really rough right now—four honors classes, one AP class, and two core classes, along with Student Government, newspaper, and SATs and ACTs! Aaaak! But I managed to get this little bit done, and I wanted to post it so I could feel like I'd accomplished something. And it does advance the plot a bit! I guess…so read and review, but most of all enjoy! :D_

_--_

Enna breathed deeply of the fragrant autumn air. The fiery red leaves of the maple tree beside her fluttered noisily in the path of the brisk breeze that was whistling down from over the sea, bringing with it the crisp smells of seawater and snow not far from the shore. A loon cried lonesomely from somewhere far away, and overhead, a flock of birds made its way south. Enna, her hair curling in response to the teasing fingers of the wind, tripped happily down the worn path, a thick wool scarf tied tightly around her neck and a warm winter cloak fluttering about her ankles. It really was a lovely day—she was not used to autumn, Galma being summery all year round, even in late November as it was. But she was finding that she rather liked it.

Of course, the fact that her lips were tingling with Peter's latest kiss made the sun shine all the brighter. At first, she had been reluctant to let herself believe that the _high king of Narnia _fancied her like that. But a few kisses and quite a lot of autumn roses later, she had to let herself trust his word.

She snagged a crisp golden-red apple from a low-hanging tree branch as she passed the orchard, munching carelessly on it. How his handsome face would light up when she spoke to or even _looked_ at him! It had given her wonderful, mysterious tingles up and down her spine the first few weeks he had been trying to convince her of his ardor. Now her tingles had ceased, but his emotions toward her had only increased.

Tossing the apple core into the high grasses along the dusty path, Enna bit her lip. Was it normal to feel a lagging excitement in matters of romance? Peter didn't seem to experience the same doubts she was. But she couldn't just tell Peter she didn't want his affections any longer—she enjoyed them, reveled in the feeling of being wanted and _appreciated_ again.

_I wonder when he'll notice I don't love him to the same extent._

She _did_ love him, of course she did, but in a sort of warm and fuzzy and, admittedly, cautious, way. He seemed to love her with a sort of…raw and unrefined fervor, wild and unchecked. Was that _wise_, she wondered?

A centaur couple, bare-skinned but for bright green woolen scarves about their necks, passed her arm-in-arm. Over the clip-clopping of their hooves, she heard the she-centaur clearly: "Cantus, did you see that human girl? The high king himself is desperately in love with her. They are saying he shall make her his queen, come spring-tide."

Enna blushed and hid a smile behind her scarf. The he-centaur's response was lost in the brisk wind, but she felt a warmth in the pit of her belly anyway. _The_ _high king himself._ Why need she worry about Sabsestrin or her future well-being? She would never have to be concerned about where she would sleep, who would love her, and if she would have to hide in the shadows forever.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

_A/N: Hi, everyone! I'm alive still! Sorry this took so long in coming. Hopefully, the relative length will make up for last time's brevity—a lot's packed into this chapter! So read and enjoy! :D_

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The sun ducked behind the clouds as Enna walked, and the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees in just a moment. She shivered and tucked her cloak warmer around herself, humming into her scarf, the moist warmth of her breath clinging to her cheeks.

As she rounded a bend in the path, she caught sight of a figure standing on a bluff a few hundred meters away. It was a man, she could tell, with a dark head and broad shoulders. He faced into the wind, his back to her, his cloak gathered loosely about him so it fluttered gently.

Curious, Enna turned off the path and went into the high grasses, climbing the gentle rise with one hand holding her skirts away from her dusty boots. "It is a lovely day, isn't it?" she asked, a bit breathless from the climb.

Aramir sighed, but didn't turn around. "Aye."

"Just 'aye'?" Enna said. "A bit cold and barren, that is true, but there is something beautiful about the land's plainness in late autumn."

Aramir only nodded, still looking blindly towards the east, the wind whipping tears into his stormy eyes.

Furrowing her brow, Enna stepped up next to him and looked in the direction he was gazing, trying to see what he saw. But the only things to meet her eyes were the brown grasses waving in the wind and the faraway grey sea. "I have wondered this for several months, now, Aramir," she said at last, quietly. "Why did you not take the last ship back to Calormen? I know your home is there, and…if you pine for it, you hide it poorly."

Aramir didn't take his eyes from the horizon as gentle flurries began to tumble from the overcast sky. "Ah…Enna, you sweet, unknowing thing…"

Indignantly, Enna put her hands on her hips. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I cannot help but be unknowing, as my lord will not divulge to me what I am unknowing about!"

Smiling dryly, Aramir at last directed his gaze to her. "A thousand apologies, my lady. What I meant was…well, I do not pine for my home. At least, not for Calormen."

"I thought Calormen was your home," Enna replied, a bit puzzled. She shielded her eyes as she gazed out over the prospect.

"It is," Aramir replied. "But…"

"But…?"

"Never mind. It won't make much sense."

Catching the hint of sadness in his voice, Enna glanced back over at him. "I have a brain, you know," she said dryly. "See if I can't make sense of it."

He looked down at her, his handsome, freckled face pensive, for a long moment before sighing. "Well, all right. Do you remember our conversation on the beach, back in September, when I…I tried to tell you that…there is a purpose to—to everything?" He shook his head. "Most likely not. Forgive me."

"I remember," Enna replied softly, and then mimicked exactly what he'd said. "'I just don't think that…well…I believe that we—if you will pardon my familiarity—are intended to stay here. Think about it. It is too coincidental to _be_ a coincidence!'"

"You do remember." Aramir seemed surprised.

Enna nodded. "Should I have forgotten it?"

"No, no," Aramir mused.

"Anyway…"

"Anyway. When I told you that, I also mentioned something—someone—higher than ourselves, directing our paths."

"Yes," Enna said, dubiously.

Aramir turned back to face the horizon, his sun-browned face almost glowing. "I've discovered the name to that someone. And my home is there with him, in the East."

Enna put her hands at her hips, disbelieving. She hadn't accepted this foolishness three months ago, what made him think she would, today? _We direct our own footsteps,_ she thought decisively. _It is nonsensical to think that someone else does it for us. Do we not make decisions for ourselves? Do we not move the world as we alone see fit?_ Out loud, she suppressed a sigh and said, "And what do you think it is?"

"Oh, I don't think," Aramir replied. "Many Narnians have told me about him…listen, Enna, don't give me that look. His name is Aslan, and he is a mighty, untamable, noble lion. He and his father, the Emperor-Over-The-Sea, live in the East."

Enna couldn't suppress a snort. "A _lion_?" she gasped, trying not to burst out in unkind laughter. "How can a _lion_ direct our paths? How can a _lion_ be the son of an emperor? Aramir, you've been quite taken in, I'm sorry to say."

Quietly, Aramir replied, "It was your Peter who first told me about him."

Enna stopped laughing. How could _Peter_ fall for such utter nonsense? Her level-headed, astute, discerning Peter! "That's ridiculous, Aramir," she said, all trace of mirth gone from her voice.

He turned back to look to the East. "I shouldn't have even said a word."

"You're absolutely right," Enna replied, scathingly. "I thought better of you, Aramir! How can you believe such utter drivel? I suppose you think he ordered Narnia and all the other kingdoms of this world, too…"

Aramir's silence confirmed her theory.

Enna scoffed. "Foolish man. To think that a lion—a _lion!_—could control Man's destiny…"

Suddenly, Aramir looked up, as if he had heard something. Enna watched his face intently. "What is it, Aramir?"

His face tightened with surprise, then slowly relaxed into a look of such awe that Enna whirled around. Coming up the bluff, the cold, snowy wind swirling its tawny mane, came a _lion_, larger than any beast Enna had ever seen before. She took a tremulous step backwards.

The creature proceeded up the rise, its great golden eyes fixed unwaveringly on Aramir, who stared back fearlessly. Enna continued taking slow, cautious steps backwards, teetering on the edge of the bluff for a moment before halting.

"Well done, my good and faithful servant," said a quiet, liquid, powerful voice. It took Enna a long while to realize it was the lion who spoke.

Aramir sank to his knees in the grasses, his head bowed low in a sign of humble submission. "Thank you, Aslan," he murmured.

Enna watched with dismay as the lion bent its tousled, tawny head to Aramir's and carefully, like a mother cat with her kitten, touched its pink tongue to his cheek. Aramir's face was obscured by the beast's wild mane, but she quite imagined that he'd be cringing with disgust.

Then the lion withdrew from Aramir—and _turned to her._ Its great, fathomless golden eyes bored into hers, and she took a hasty retreating step, tripping on a protruding stone and tumbling to the ground in a puff of dust.

The lion kept advancing, its red upper lip curled back over a long, sharp-looking tooth. "Daughter of Eve," it rumbled menacingly. "Acknowledge me."

Enna had her lips clamped together and refused to respond, closing her eyes and willing the beast to disappear.

"Acknowledge me," repeated the creature, in a voice that made Enna's very insides tremble. She continued to stare at the undersides of her eyelids.

Suddenly, she heard the beast move, and her eyes flew open just as its blood-red, fleshy lips pulled away from its teeth and it lunged forward. A scream escaped her mouth, but to no avail—the lion's powerful paws forced her to the ground, and a second later searing pain ripped up her shoulder as it sank its teeth into her flesh.

A second later, the lion stepped away. Enna could see through her tear-blurred eyes that its teeth and maw were stained with her blood.

"You, daughter of Eve," the lion growled, still looming above her, "are a wicked, prideful woman. For many years have I petitioned for your penitence, but you have disdained me. My wrath has been woken, you stiff-necked wretch!"

Enna clutched the wound with her good hand, the blood seeping through her torn clothing and between her quivering fingers, as she stared timorously up into the lion's fiery eyes. A weak word of protest escaped her lips, and the beast snarled in response.

"You have transgressed against me," it rumbled. "Your vices are many. Absolve yourself, woman! I demand redress!"

"I cannot," Enna choked, hot tears dripping down her cheeks. "I cannot!"

There was no answer, and she lifted her head. The beast, its deep, golden eyes grieved, was turned back to Aramir. "Hie back to Cair Paravel," the lion instructed, a faraway reverberation in its chest echoing its words. "Take the woman with you. See that she is tended to."

"Yes, Aslan," Enna heard Aramir respond. A moment later, and his warm arms encircled her, and he whispered a few soothing words into her ear as he helped her to her feet. Muffling her sobs with her good hand, Enna went willingly, leaning heavily on him for support as he aided each wavering step.

"It'll be all right," she heard him murmur against her hair. "Really. Aslan is a compassionate lion…"


	20. Chapter Twenty

"Wipe your tears, Enna. It's really not as bad as you think."

Enna lifted a trembling hand to her face, drying her damp cheeks with her already-wet sleeve. "'Not as bad'?" she said with a weakly disdainful snort. "Really, Aramir?"

He gave an understanding smile and gently touched the end of her ragged plait. "Really. With all that blood, I'd have thought you were seriously hurt…but I suppose I should have known that Aslan is better than that."

Enna didn't answer at first, too afraid of seeming foolish after all her denials and tears. After it had been cleaned up a bit, her shoulder had turned out to look no worse than if she'd tripped and skinned it. "I suppose I owe you an apology, then," she said after a few silent moments had passed.

Aramir sighed. "It's all right. You didn't know…"

Enna looked over at him, folding her hands in her lap. "It was no excuse for being so cruel to you. And I'm not just saying that because a beast called me 'wicked', either. I…I am sorry, truly."

Looking instead at his feet dangling off of the infirmary cot he was seated on, he gave a twitch of the lips. "There's no need to apologize, Enna. You've been through so much."

"But you've experience much, yourself," Enna protested. "And yet A…Aslan directed his wrath towards _me_. How am I different than you?"

"Our experiences are similar," Aramir replied. "But they are not the same. My past is much more barbarous than yours, I think."

"Is that possible?"

"Quite." Aramir gave a dry laugh. "You perhaps have observed this, but the captain of the _Seacharger_ is none other than my brother. You might imagine what my childhood with him was like. He once had my sister lashed to the mast of his ship for four nights and three days with no water, when she refused to entertain his sailors."

Enna was stunned—Aramir shared the same last name as that horrible beast of a man? Her head spinning, she held both hands to her burning face. "Oh, Aramir…you poor, poor man! And he _beat_ you!"

His freckled cheeks red, he shrugged. "Our past experiences don't affect Aslan a whit."

His tone was light, but Enna could see the grief in his stormy eyes, and her heart gave a poignant wrench. A strong desire to protect this poor wretch filled her chest, and she wrapped her good arm around him as best she could. "But if our past experiences don't affect A…Aslan a whit, why did his wrath flare so at me?"

She could feel his warm breath puff against her hair, but he didn't answer.

A few long minutes passed in silence, Enna clinging to Aramir with mixed emotions and a whirling mind. She'd been wrong about Aslan's existence…what else could she be wrong about?

"See to your king, son."

She sat up quickly as Aslan entered the room and addressed Aramir, who had also started at the sudden entrance. But the doe-eyed youth nodded and got to his feet, leaving the way Aslan had come in. Enna was alone with the tawny beast.

"Has your discomfort been eased, child?" he asked, coming closer with footfalls that whispered softly against the cold stone floors.

"A bit," she squeaked, fright burning in her throat. She held a hand to the bandages on her shoulder.

Aslan looked at her with deeply golden eyes. "You have many questions, do you not?"

Enna laughed nervously at this direct observation. "Questions…it depends on how one defines 'questions'."

"Doubts," he said. "Confusions? Dubiety?"

"A bit," Enna answered, after a bracing clench of her fists.

Aslan didn't answer, only looked at her, his great, tawny head turned slightly away.

Guessing that he wanted her to voice these hesitations, Enna took a shaking breath. "I was wrong about…about your existence, Aslan, and for that…I suppose I'm very sorry." She looked down at her feet and kicked them back and forth. "But…Aramir said that…that…you 'direct our paths'. Is that…was he telling the truth?"

"Yes," Aslan answered mildly, a seemingly simple answer to such a complex question.

Enna bit her lip in frustration. "What I mean is, do you _really_? Do you really decide what we're going to do, in our whole life?"

"Yes," Aslan repeated.

"But you're…you're a _lion_," Enna protested. "Lions can't _do_ that!"

"I am no ordinary lion," Aslan said with an eloquent twinkle in his eye.

Enna shut her mouth, a bit vexed.

"For example," Aslan said, "I am fully aware that you are not in love with the high king, as you say you are."

A hot flush rose to her cheeks, but she didn't answer, too awed.

"And I know that your paternal uncle has caused you much pain," he went on. "And he continues to do so."

Enna stared.

"And I know that, if given your own way, you would leave Narnia and sail north."

_Great Gale,_ Enna thought, horrified. _If he knows that, then what else—_

"And I know that you just swore by the name of an ancient Galmanian king, one whom I gave rule over the land that I brought into being. And that the high king of Narnia is standing outside the door and trying not to overhear our conversation."

Blushing, Peter entered, looking a bit like a young boy who's been caught doing something naughty. "Forgive me, Aslan," he murmured, lowering himself to his knees and bowing his head reverentially.

Aslan nudged his shoulder with his nose. "Forgiven and forgotten, my son."

Enna couldn't bring herself to raise her eyes to meet his. Had he overheard that she was not in love with him? Oh, Gale forbid he should ever learn it. She did not love him, but she _was_ fond of him, and shuddered to think of causing him any sort of distress.

She was brought back to reality by the warm touch of his hand on her knee. "I shall not keep the lady for the very long," Aslan was saying. "But I desire to meet with you after she and I are finished with our talk."

Enna forced herself to glance at Peter, whose warm blue eyes softened when she looked up at him. "Aye, Aslan," he said, continuing to gaze at her until she had to look away for shame.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Enna let out a tortured sigh. "You were right about…about how I feel about the high king, Aslan."

The great lion blinked slowly in understanding.

"But…I don't…" Enna stopped and growled in frustration. "I need…I need_…_You claimed to know those things about me, but…those things could be learned by anyone."

"You want a sign, don't you?" Aslan said, gently.

Enna nodded.

"Very well," Aslan replied, and Enna's heart leapt. "In this very month, the following things will happen to you.

"One—you will fall ill. Two, someone will step on your frock and tear it. And three, the seas will melt and bring with it unspeakable fear."

Enna held her hand over her pounding heart, struggling to keep a rein on her dismay. "And these things…"

"In the space of thirty days," Aslan replied. "Now go, and think on these things."

"Yes, Aslan," Enna said faintly, and got to her feet. _Unspeakable fear?_ _Illness?_ _Oh, Gale…_


	21. Chapter Twenty One

_(A/N: Here's Chapter 21! It took me a long time to write, and it wasn't until I was about to upload that I noticed how short it was. O.o So I apologize…but it is rather word-dense, don't you think?_

_Anyway, if I don't find time to update before then, Merry Christmas, everyone! :D)_

--

Enna obeyed Aslan's command and went off on her own to ponder his words. Standing in the frigid air at the top of the highest tower in Cair Paravel, she wept softly into her cloak as soft snow collected on her shoulders. The sun was setting bloodily over the rippling sea sprawling out before her, tinting the freshly fallen snow a strange pinkish color, and there was no sound but the whisper of the guidon behind her as it fluttered in the gentle breeze.

She liked to think of herself as a sensible girl, but the weight bearing down on her heart was simply too much. Had Aramir, a simple sailor, been right all along? Did this beast, this…lion really have the unearthly power to mold men's lives? It seemed impossible, and yet…Peter and his three siblings, not to mention Aramir and seemingly the rest of Narnia, obeyed his word without a second thought. While it seemed unthinkable that a mere creature could wield such immense power, it was almost as nonviable that an entire kingdom and its rulers could be so completely fooled.

And thus she found herself exactly where she had been before—faced with two equally sensible, and yet at the same time preposterous, options. Either a million creatures had been gulled and made to believe the ludicrous, or a talking lion really could control men's destinies.

She heaved a sigh, abandoning this train of thought for another, less complex, one. The secret that she'd been hiding, trying to convince herself of the opposite, had been revealed. Now both she _and_ Aslan were aware of the fact that she was deceiving Peter Pevensie, his royal siblings, the court, and the kingdom of Narnia into thinking that she loved him. There was no use in her trying to force a passion that just wasn't there, not now that Aslan knew. She'd have to tell the poor boy…have to face the look of betrayal on his lightly bearded cheeks, have to watch the soft light in his eyes flicker and go out. Though she'd only known the lion for a day, she could already imagine the look of disapproval in his eyes if she tried to hide the deception.

Resting her elbows in the fluffy white snow that covered the stone wall, Enna leaned out over the edge of the tower and gazed across the castle at the snowy, white-capped waves. It hurt her to hurt Peter, but her soul had been silently suffocating for the past two months. It was bad enough that winter ice and snow had blocked the channels and made sea passage nearly impossible. She was forced to stay in a foreign land, and though she had free rein to wander wherever she pleased, all her ramblings were tainted with the unhappy knowledge that she had to return to the castle ere nightfall. It was the old wanderlust, the irrepressible longing for freedom that she had managed to muffle slightly for a bit. Her relationship with Peter only made it worse.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and the only light came from the distant bloody reflections on the cloudy sky. A hush fell over the land, and Enna wrapped her arms around herself, breathing in the biting air, searching for something in it to brace herself with.

The soft sigh of the door opening behind her brought Enna back to the present, and the next moment Peter's warm arms were slipped around her, pulling her close and holding fast. Enna waited for him to speak into her ear, but he remained silent, breathing into her hair. She couldn't bring herself to break away, her distaste at being pinned against him finding itself overshadowed by her desire to delay his unhappiness as long as possible.

After a few long moments spent in this manner, she felt rather than heard him sigh against her hair, and he gently turned her to face him. Her heart sank when she saw his bittersweet smile. He looked so forlorn—had something terrible happened?

"Enna Stalresin." He simply said her name, in a manner so tender that Enna, for a fleeting moment, felt a sympathetic throb in her heart. But she could only watch him a bit pityingly, even as his hand drifted up to stroke the curve of her jaw.

She let her eyes slip shut briefly as she gathered her courage. "Peter…I—I…"

"You what?" he asked gently.

_I can't go through with it…I can't do this to him…But I must. It's best for him, and me, that I do. This is a lie, it's wrong…_

But before she could get her wits about her, Peter slipped his hand up into her tangled hair and lowered his lips to hers. There was nothing she could do but feel terrible while the sweetest boy in Narnia kissed her, for what she was determined to have be the last time.

He pulled away rather abruptly, leaving his fingers entwined with hers but taking a few steps back. "I know what you are going to say, Enna," he said as soon as she'd opened her mouth to speak.

"You do?" _Impossible…_

Sighing, he nodded and shook his cloak free from the icy flakes of snow falling from the sky. "Aslan…he told me everything…about you, about your doubt…about your true feelings for me…"

His remark hung in the air for a long time before Enna could find the words with which to reply. "Peter…I'm so sorry—"

"Don't be," he answered. "Really, Enna. I…I won't lie and tell you I'm not disappointed, or hurt, but…I want you to be happy, more than anything else. I've come to the realization that _I_ don't make you happy. And yes, before you ask, Aslan did counsel me to separate myself from you, but I _do_ do this willingly."

"I see," said Enna, still a bit confused.

"I won't try to convince you to change your mind or anything of that matter," Peter went on. "I would never go against Aslan's word."

Enna's heart gave a little throb at Aslan's name.

"Is it your wish that I make it so our romance never existed?" he asked. "Cair Paravel is sizeable enough that if you wished to never see me again but from afar, it would not be difficult to manage."

"Oh, Peter," Enna said fretfully. "This _is_ hard. I've grown quite fond of you, dear Peter, though I could not love you. I wouldn't want every connection to be severed between us."

Peter smiled understandingly. "If you wish it. I will think of our adoration for each other as a season, soon to pass into the next."

Enna closed her eyes, sorry for hurting him but thanking her lucky stars he was taking it so well. "Thank you, Peter…thank you so much."

He squeezed her hand briefly before dropping it and going slowly back inside. Enna turned fresh eyes to the moon hovering silently over the parapets—the air seemed a bit fresher, and the snow falling mutely from the heavens felt somehow less treacherous and more like a soft blanket on her damp hair.

_Thank you, Gale…thank you, Aslan._


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

The next month went by dark and cold. Heavy, wet snow fell from the cloudy sky, building up on Enna's window and drifting through overlooked holes in the walls. Winter had officially come to Narnia, and with it an odd holiday called 'Christmas.' Enna, used to walking the halls and being passed by trotting fauns with their arms laden down by scrolls and quills, came to find the fauns, not busy with political work, but busy nailing pine boughs and sprigs of holly to the castle walls. A towering evergreen had been erected behind the royal dais in the banquet hall, and Enna watched as Peter, Aramir, and the king Edmund stood on rickety ladders, stringing long strands of threaded cranberries and glittering glass baubles until the tree shimmered in the torchlight.

She was trying not to worry as she sat near the two queens, but the three menfolk were so high up, and those ladders looked so dangerous…

"Oy, Susan, catch!" Edmund leaned back and tossed an orange to the queen, who shrieked as the ladder swayed a bit.

Enna covered her eyes.

"Enna!"

She opened them again just as Aramir reached back and tossed an orange across the Hall to her, and caught it with the tips of her fingers just before it splattered at her feet. "Do you wish to kill me, sir?" she called. As Aramir tipped backwards and had to grab at the tree to keep from falling, she added, "Or yourself?"

"It was in my plan to wait until you proved yourself worthy of death."

"You haven't been too observant, have you?"

Peter cleared his throat, and Enna looked at her hands. Peter had been very good about their recent estrangement, hadn't mentioned it to anyone and had treated her with the utmost consideration, but became obviously flustered whenever Enna got too familiar with anyone. It was slightly bothersome, but, she thought with a sigh, she owed it to him.

A dryad whose leaves had long since fallen entered the hall with a basket of ribbon. "Your Highnesses, the faun Tumnus is here to see you."

Queen Lucy shrieked and leapt from her seat before Enna even had a chance to turn around. "Oh, Tumnus!"

The other three Pevensies exclaimed in glee and went to meet the graying faun, Peter and King Edmund climbing down their ladders. "Oh, Mr. Tumnus, how good it is to see you!" Queen Susan cried.

"And you, my queens and kings," Tumnus replied with a smile.

Peter gave a merry laugh. "Enna, you wouldn't mind assisting Aramir with the rest of the tree, would you?"

"Of course not," Enna said softly.

"Thank you," King Edmund said, touching his fingers to his forehead, and he and his three siblings left the hall.

Enna took the basket of ribbon from the dryad and thanked her before approaching the tree. "What needs to be done yet?"

"The rest of the baubles need to be hung," replied Aramir, looking down at her as he paused at his work.

"I think the queens wish for these ribbons to be tied to the boughs," Enna said, holding up the basket.

"Well, those should be put up before the rest of the baubles." Aramir slipped the glass ornament he'd been holding into his pocket and began to climb down his ladder.

Enna wrinkled her nose and climbed up the other ladder until she reached the very top of the tree, nearly scraping the cathedral ceiling of the hall with the top of her head as she reached out and began to tie the crimson ribbons to the branches. "We'd best start from the top."

"Enna, get down from there!" Aramir's voice echoed against the stone walls, and she looked down.

"What? Why?"

"Just—just climb down. _Please_." She felt him take ahold of the ladder and hold it steady.

She took a few steps down the ladder to tie ribbons on lower boughs. "I won't fall, don't worry."

"But—"

"Really, Aramir, I'm all right."

"Fine. But I'll not move until you have your feet on solid ground."

Enna shook her head and went on. "I'll have to go back up on the other ladders to finish the tree, you know, and it's going to go by very slowly if you just stand there."

"If you fall, I want to catch you," Aramir replied stubbornly.

"I won't fall."

"You _will_," Aramir said quickly as she leaned over a bit sharply.

"This is a futile conversation," Enna sighed. "Take some of these ribbons and go up that ladder. If I start to fall, I'll tell you." She tossed a handful of ribbons down to him.

"Don't blame me if you break your neck."

"Oh, I don't think you'll have to worry about that."

He shook his head and caught the ribbon. "Fine."

"Thank you."

The tree trembled as he climbed up on the nearby ladder and began tying ribbons. "How does your shoulder feel? I heard they took the bandages off yesterday."

"A scar or two, but no real damage." Enna let a ghost of a smile escape. "The only inconvenience was those nettlesome bandages. They used the same salve on my shoulder as they did on your back, you know."

"I'm eternally grateful for that salve."

"Peter said you might've died, had you been left on the ship."

Aramir smiled at her. "Aslan works in amazing ways, doesn't he? Because you stowed away, I was vindicated from my brother."

_I was vindicated._ Enna stared at the bow she'd just tied. Aslan had told her she had a purpose, didn't he? Had the purpose of her life, up to this point, been to save _Aramir's_? She'd never looked at it from that standpoint!

"Enna, hold onto the ladder."

She looked up at him. "Why?"

"You've gone pale. Do you feel faint?"

"A bit," she replied, her mind awhirl, and began to climb down the ladder, gripping the rungs shakily. Had she really saved his life? How was that possible? She hadn't intended to, never once. And yet…it had happened, as neatly as if—

As neatly as if it had been planned.

Her feet on solid ground, she stood with her hands still braced against the ladder, her face suddenly hot. She had thought at first that having her life completely out of her control would send her crazy with worry, but suddenly, it didn't seem so bad.

Aramir's warm arms encircled her shoulders, and he helped her to a seat. "I warned you, didn't I? Heights can cause dizziness."

"It isn't that, really," she said earnestly, coming out of her daze. "I…I just realized something. Something about…well, the reason I stowed away on the _Seacharger_ was because my uncle had made my life so miserable. And because my father died, he married my mother. And because of him, my father died in the first place. My whole life has been constructed to bring me to the ship—and save _you_. I—_I_, of all people, couldn't possibly have planned that. No human could have foreseen these events."

Aramir's eyes lit up, and he grinned. "See?"

"I think I'm beginning to understand," she admitted. "At least, a little. It's just a theory, after all."

"I won't say I told you so."

Enna nudged him with her elbow. "That's all I was thinking about. Now that I'm not dizzy, will my kind master allow me to continue with the tree?"

He gave her a dry smile and held out a hand, which she accepted and stood. "You've proven yourself at least a bit worthy of a ladder."

At that moment, Enna stepped on the hem of her frock, a loud _rip_ping sound rending the air, and fell in a heap on the floor. "Oof!"

"Never mind."

She groaned, rubbing her bruised knee, and got up. "Oh, Gale, I've torn my dress. Look at that, clean through."

"At least you turned clumsy _after_ you got off the ladder."

Enna sighed and looked at her hem—thank goodness for Narnian footwear! If she'd been wearing Galmanian sandals, her ankle would have been bared for all to see! "Oh, dear…"

"Thank goodness it was your frock and not your head."

"You and your optimism." Enna shook her head. "I'll have to go and change, now. Can you finish the tree without me?"

"You mean without your distractions? Yes." Aramir threw her a wink and went back up the tree.

"I'll kick out the ladder," Enna threatened, picking up her skirts and wrinkling her nose up at him.

"And I'll drop baubles," Aramir returned.

"Oo, you wouldn't dare." Enna turned and marched off the dais, the torn bit of her hem fluttering in the breeze she was making.

"Maybe I would!" he shouted after.

Enna ignored this, flipping her untidy plait over her shoulder as she left the hall. She may need a change of dress, but she also needed a few minutes alone to successfully process this newest bit of information—it was a bit more than she could handle at one moment.

_Second, someone will step on your frock and tear it._

She stopped dead in her tracks and clapped a hand to her mouth. The prophecy had come true? That was impossible.

Right?

Without a second thought, she picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could to her room.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

_(A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone! How've your breaks been? I, for one, drove up to Michigan to spend time with my extended family. I wrecked my doctor-recommended diet, slept on a couch, posted the last chapter of "The Funny Farm and the Goblet of Fire," watched historical chick flicks, played Wii until I threw my shoulder out, got tackled by cousins, was shot multiple times by airsoft pellets, and got hardly any sleep! It was great! :D_

_Anyway, I know this chapter is a bit short, but it serves a purpose. I guess. O.o Either way, I hope you enjoy!)_

--

Though Enna didn't know what 'Christmas' was, the excitement building in the castle as the days of December waned was contagious. Unfortunately for her, so was the illness that her maid had.

On Christmas day, Enna woke to a sunny morning and a swollen throat so sore she could hardly talk. She could hear the bustling about as the other residents in the castle woke and discovered the presents by their beds, but she was just too tired and sore to rouse herself from the tight tangle of her sheets. So there she remained for most of the morning, drifting between fevered waking and an uncomfortable drowse.

At about a quarter after ten, there came a soft knock at her door. Enna, dozing fitfully, didn't hear it, and kept on sleeping. A moment later, Aramir opened the door an inch or two and said softly, "Enna?"

She stirred at the sound of her name and woke. "Hmm?"

"Are you decent?"

Drawing her bedclothes up to her chin, Enna cleared her throat painfully and whispered, "Yes."

Aramir came into the room, holding something behind his back. "Happy Christmas!"

"And so to you."

He approached her bed, drawing aside the heavy curtains hanging around the mattress. "You've slept awful late this morning. Are you all right?"

Enna brushed a curl away from her face and tried to tuck it back into her messy plait. "A bit ill."

Aramir looked closer. "By the lion, Enna, you _look_ it!" He sat at her side and touched a cool hand to her fiery-hot forehead. "And you're fevered, poor lass."

Enna sighed and closed her eyes. "Do other Christmases feel this way?"

She heard his chuckle as he shifted slightly on the bed. "No, I doubt it. Christmas is supposed to be a merry occasion."

"I don't feel very merry…"

"Perhaps this will cheer you. Go on, try to sit up. There's a good lass." He pressed into her shaking hands a package wrapped in brown paper.

"What is this?"

"It's a gift. Open it."

Pushing a lock of hair from her eyes, Enna looked at him and tore the paper away from the object. It was a bit of white sea glass, melted over a delicate wisp of kelp and tied to a thin cord of leather…just like the one her mother'd had.

"Oh, Aramir, it's lovely," she said around her aching throat, tears suddenly and unexpectedly welling up in her eyes.

Aramir touched her chin briefly. "I heard you call it sea glass…where I come from, we call it mermaid's tears. A fitting name, I think."

Taking a deep breath and forcing away the tears, Enna smiled and wrapped the necklet in its papers again. "I…I don't know much about Christmas, or giving presents, but I…yours is on that desk over there."

Aramir stood and went over to the window, picking up the tunic that lay folded on the escritoire. "Enna, it's fantastic."

"Unfold it and look on it before you pronounce judgment on it," Enna scolded, drawing her covers up higher around her shoulders. "I made it in the Narnian way, or at least tried to."

He shook it out, the soft cambric rustling. "I see the Galmanian influences."

Enna blushed. "Oh, dear, I _did_ try…"

"No, no! I do think it looks quite nice. I daresay that no one else in Narnia has a shirt like this one. And the stitching on the yoke looks time-consuming."

"Only a little. Oh, and the jerkin underneath is for you, too."

He looked at her in surprise. "Enna, lass, you're far too kind!"

"Oh, nonsense. This I hope looks completely Narnian. At least, the cut does…I think I slipped and festooned it in a rather Galmanian fashion."

Aramir chuckled and picked up the forest green jerkin, running his thumb over the delicate embroidery that marched down the front of the article alongside the grommets and ties. "It's…I don't even know what to say, Enna."

"A simple 'thank you' will suffice." She blushed and tucked a curl behind her ear.

Suddenly, Aramir undid his simple leather jerkin and slipped it off, following it with his secondhand tunic until he stood bare-chested in her room. Enna blinked and felt a hot blush creeping up her face, her embarrassment tempered only by the sight of the old scars crisscrossing the youth's back. A moment later and they were covered by the new tunic and jerkin, and Aramir tied them up and admired himself in the mirror, completely unbothered by the fact that he'd stripped to the waist in front of a mortified young woman.

"I feel almost royal," he announced with a grin, turning to her.

He did look nice, Enna had to admit. "It looks well on you."

"Thank you, Enna," he said seriously, coming to sit by her side again and putting his hand on his chest. "It does mean a good deal to me."

Enna swallowed painfully and managed a small smile. "The sea glass means a considerable amount to me, as well."

"I've heard you speak about it before. I thought…I don't know. But I thought of you when I saw it."

To Enna's dismay, tears threatened to dampen her eyes again, but she forced them away and patted Aramir's arm. "Thank you."

His eyes softened a bit, and he put his hand over hers. "You're welcome. Now, you need to rest some more. I'll go have someone bring up some tea and soup."

"Oh, you don't—"

"You'll get better sooner if someone else cares for you," Aramir interrupted stubbornly. "Now lie down and try to sleep."

Enna did so obediently. Aramir got up from the bed, and she heard him chuckle once before he went to the door and let himself out, closing it quietly behind him. It seemed suddenly rather lonelier in the room, now that she was by herself again, and it took a bit of work to fall asleep, her hand curled around the paper-wrapped bit of jewelry.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

_A/N: Whoa, aren't you guys lucky! Two updates in as many days! Of course, with tonight being New Year's Eve, and everyone being up late anyway, you'll all have plenty of time to read and review! :D …Right? _

_Anyway, here's wishing you all a very happy and prosperous 2009! Thanks for sticking with this story for that long! I hope it's been as much worth your while as it is mine. As the Dutch say, _Ik hoop u een zeer gelukkig nieuw jaar!

--

Enna was woken a half-hour later by a gentle hand at her forehead. Blinking sleepily and shivering as she poked her nose out from under the warm blankets, Enna saw through bleary eyes Aramir's dark ones, peering concernedly down at her.

"I'm sorry to wake you, lass," he said kindly, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek, "but I think you ought to eat. Lillah's been good enough to bring up a tray for you."

Enna's whole body rebelled at the idea of sitting up, though her stomach rumbled faintly. "Please, Aramir, I'm…I'm so tired."

"If you set it down there, could you stir up the fire?" His question was directed at the faun, and Enna heard her carry out his request. "Just a few bites, that's all I ask," he said, turning back to her and holding her hand until she opened her eyes again. "By the lion, you're iller than I thought."

"More ill," Enna corrected automatically, and attempted to turn her back to him.

"Either way." Aramir caught her shoulder and slipped an arm under her, forcing her into a half-sitting position which she couldn't have maintained if he hadn't held her up. "Here, Lillah, bring that tray here, would you?"

Enna fought to keep her hands from shaking, though her whole body was trembling. "It's so _cold_ in this room."

She felt his hand at her forehead again. "You're burning up, Enna."

"I feel like I'm freezing."

Lillah set the tray atop Aramir's knees, and he took the crumpled paper containing the necklace from her hand and replaced it with a rough cup. "Drink something, lass."

Obediently, she took a sip or two of the water, its coolness a welcome sensation to her dry mouth. "There."

"All of it."

Enna rolled her eyes and slowly drank the rest of the cup's contents while Aramir waited patiently. "Happy?"

"A bit." He took the cup from her. "Now I want you to eat a bit of soup."

"Oh, Aramir, _I_ want me to sleep."

She tried to snuggle back down into the warmth of her bed, but he held her tightly and pulled her back up. "Not until you get something substantial in your stomach."

Eating was the last thing she wanted to do at that moment, but Enna was much too tired to protest, so she obediently ate a few mouthfuls of the lukewarm soup that Lillah had brought. "There."

"Better?"

"No," she sighed, fighting a quiver.

Aramir touched her head again, and his cool palm felt nice against her blazing flesh. "Then try to sleep, I suppose. You're awfully pale."

Enna didn't answer at first, her eyelids sagging with exhaustion. "I'm awfully _cold_, too." Her face felt all hot, but she couldn't seem to get the rest of herself warm.

Aramir shifted slightly on the bed, allowing her to rest her head on the pillow again, though his arm kept her in a surprisingly restful semi-upright position. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep, then. I'll make sure the fire stays built up."

This sounded very good to Enna, who was just starting to get warm and very sleepy. Swallowing against her inflamed throat, she nodded and put her head on Aramir's comfortable shoulder. (It occurred vaguely to her that he might not appreciate her breathing so close to him, but at the moment, his future health was the last thing on her mind.) Nevertheless, he tolerated it well, even reaching over and pulling the blankets up to her chin and tucking them securely around her. Being so snug and relaxed, it was only a few moments before Enna had drifted off to sound, dreamless sleep.

She woke later feeling rather on the mend and extremely cozy. Aramir had stayed true to his word—Lillah and the tray were gone, and the fire sputtering in the hearth, but he was still by her side, his cheeks flushed with sleep and his breath coming in long, slow sighs. Enna smiled to herself, pulling a blanket up over his shoulder. How late had she slept? She couldn't see out the window from where she sat, but the red light glowing on the opposite wall indicated late afternoon.

Aramir shifted a little in his sleep, turning more towards her, and she adjusted the blanket accordingly. The poor dear probably didn't need the sleep, but she wasn't about to ruin such a sweet picture by waking him. Rather, she leaned over and retrieved the book she'd been reading—_A Detailed History of and Guide to the Usage of Narnian Weaponry_, by one Carrik Cathmor. It read dryly, that was true, but Enna found the bits about how men's armor could be easily adapted to protect the female form extremely interesting. In Galma, only wealthy men outfitted the army, and at that it was a very small one. Her father and uncle had both served limited terms, but from what she remembered of their armor, it was mainly leather gauntlets and a stout shield.

The sturdy youth drawn in the book to demonstrate Narnian battle dress was outfitted in an odd sleeveless jerkin of scarlet, the chest covering bearing a striking image of a golden lion, his legs and arms draped in a most curious mantle of what seemed to be tiny metal rings. In his hand he held aloft a sharp-tipped broadsword, and strange-looking metal plates were stacked upon his straight shoulders. Under his arm was a gold-embossed helmet, and a thick belt at his waist held a scabbard, and against his booted legs rested a shield of steel, a scarlet rampant lion emblazoned across the surface. The caption, written in an elegant hand, read, "_His Majesty King Peter the Magnificent, High King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, in Full Battle Regalia._"

Enna shivered and turned the page, glad she would never have to see him or any other Narnian dressed in such a way.

"You look better."

She was surprised to see Aramir looking up at her, eyes bleary with sleep. "I do feel better."

"You don't _sound_ better, though," he teased through a yawn. "I could reasonably compare you to a sick hound."

"Excuse me, kind sir?"

"Just the truth, lass," he replied, rolling out from under the covers and standing, his nice new jerkin and tunic rumpled and messy. "But you seem to have gotten your spunk back, that's a good sign, I suppose."

Enna threw the book at him. "Oh, go on and leave, then!"

"But then who will you use as target practice, my lady?"

"I'll manage."

He swept a low bow. "As my lady wishes."

"And good riddance!" she called after him as he shut the door. Shaking her head, she gathered her strength and climbed out of bed, chuckling slightly to herself. _He is a nice boy_, she thought as she slowly removed her nightgown, selecting her comfiest white underdress and a plain-fronted lichen-green gown to don in its place. She ought to at least make an appearance, though she was still rather tired and under the weather.

Wrapping a warm woolen shawl about her shoulders, Enna opened the door and padded down the corridor, feeling the chill of the cold stones through her leather shoes. It was never cold like this in Galma, the one thing she missed.

As she descended the staircase, the sounds of the castle became louder and louder. There were laughter and delicious smells wafting up from the banquet hall, and her footsteps quickened. Aramir was good company, but she almost missed the hustle and bustle of the other Narnians.

The constant feast was still in full swing when she came into the banquet hall, as the occupants of the castle were encouraged to eat as much as they wanted whenever they wanted, part of the monarchs' gifts to their subjects. The four Pevensies were lounging on cushy chairs on the royal dais together, and a group of dryads were playing their reed flutes in the corner. Sidestepping a couple of tussling faun-children, Enna found herself a seat next to the centauress Rosandrine, who was apparently taking a break from her cook's duties. "Happy Christmas, Rosa."

"Enna, darling! Happy Christmas! I was beginning to think that I wouldn't see you today. Oh, dear, have you been ill?"

"A bit," Enna admitted. "Just a little choler."

Rosandrine tsked sympathetically and touched Enna's cheek. "You were fevered, poor thing, I tell by your eyes. Have you eaten?"

"A bit, aye."

"That sailor lad Aramir came to ask me for soup," Rosa mused. "Was that for you?"

"Aye."

"Ah, a good lad he is. I wondered at first, but took a chance and put some of my influenza herbs in the broth. I see it helped!"

Enna smiled. "Thank you. I do feel better."

Rosandrine patted her hand. "Drink a little tea, dear. It'll help that raspy voice."

Enna obeyed, and was sipping quietly from the glass when Peter came down from the dais and approached her, holding something behind her back. "Happy Christmas, Enna!"

"And to you, Peter," she answered with a smile.

He grinned and came to sit by her. "Have you heard? The ice floes have broken on the Sea. The centaurs are estimating about four weeks before the waterways become impassable again."

"Scarcely enough time for lengthy travel," she replied.

"Yes, but plenty time for trade to make it from our ports to Archenland's. A shipment of Archenlandian wheat and cloth is expected within the week, and our tradesmen have already prepared cargos of glass and metalwork."

"That's wonderful," Enna said sincerely.

"And this means that when the time comes for the Great Snow Dance, the moon will be clear and bright. Although, the snow is melting so quickly I think the Great Snow Dance will have to be greatly postponed."

"'Great Snow Dance'?" Enna repeated. "What's that?"

"Oh, Enna, it's simply wonderful," he replied. "On the first moonlit night of the year, if there's snow on the ground, we gather for a feast. A group of dwarfs, all dressed in their finest, dance in a circle and throw snowballs in time to the liveliest music. No one gets hit if everyone is in time!"

Enna smiled. "It sounds delightful, Peter."

"It is. I hope you're able to see it. Oh, that reminds me. Here." He drew from behind his back two large, funnily shaped, paper-wrapped packages, and set another aside. "This is for Aramir."

"Oh…Peter—" Enna looked up at him, biting her lip. "I—"

"It's not from me, don't fret. Father Christmas left it for you."

"Father Christmas?"

"Yes. He's a short, fat fellow with a thick white beard, and he brings gifts for Narnians every year."

"I see." Enna turned to the gifts and tore back the wrapping on the largest, flattest one. To her bewilderment, she found that it was a slender longbow, painted a dark red and branded with gold vines and branches all up and around the sturdy body.

Peter was astonished, as well. "By the lion, Enna."

"I…I don't even know how to arch," she said weakly, Peter taking the bow from her hands and looking it up and down with an expert eye.

"It's yew. Very resilient."

"Aye."

"Oh…look. There's a motto imprinted here."

Enna got up and peered at the weapon. "'_Victoria Usquequaque ut Rectus, cui Leo pluo suus bona'_. Well, what do you suppose that means?"

Peter looked at the inscription, his brow furrowed. "Victory…something…on which the Lion…something else I don't understand. This language seems very familiar, and yet…I can't understand it all."

"It's nothing like Calormene," Enna said.

"Could it be an island tongue?"

"All the island tongues are similar, and this one bears hardly any resemblance to ancient Galmanian."

"How odd. Well, open the other, see if it gives any clue."

Enna tore the wrapping on the other package only to find a quiver full of white-fletched arrows, molded out of red leather and sporting the same gold embossing that the bow itself was. "This one's got an inscription, too," Enna said. _"'__Leo est supremus totus alius, is quos ego servo plene_'."

"The Lion is above all…something…I serve…something." Peter sighed in frustration. "I simply can't translate those few verbs and nouns, and it destroys the whole meaning."

"If I could simply know what I am to do with these, it would make me very happy, indeed," Enna said fretfully.

Peter looked over at her. "I don't think Father Christmas gives idle gifts, Enna. Perhaps you are going to be in need of these one day."

"Oh? Are you planning to be behead me for real?"

Peter laughed. "No, not if you behave yourself. But really," he went on, sobering. "When I was…oh, fourteen, I believe, and first came into Narnia, when the White Witch's hold was still strong on this land, I and my royal siblings met Father Christmas on our way to the Stone Table. He gave myself a sword, Rhindon, and a shield. To my sister Susan, he gave a horn and a bow and ivory quiver, just like you. To my sister Lucy, he gave a bottle of medicinal cordial and a dagger."

"And? Did you use them to protect yourself from fresh monarchs with a penchant for beheading young maidens?"

He grinned. "Not exactly. But everything came in extremely handy during the battle for Narnia…Rhindon destroyed the Witch's power, Susan's bow killed many of our foes, and Lucy's cordial saved my brother Edmund's life."

"Why didn't Edmund receive a gift from Father Christmas?" Enna asked, curious.

Peter's brow furrowed a bit. "He wasn't with us at the time. Perhaps I'll explain it all later."

"Well, all right….I do see how Father Christmas' gifts come in useful, but do you really think I'll have need of these?"

"I see no immediate danger, no," Peter admitted. "Narnia is quite secure. But…perhaps you ought to learn how to use them."

"Oh, Peter…"

"Oh, Enna. I think it is a valuable skill to have, in case something does go poorly, maybe even later in your life."

Enna sighed. "All right."

"After all, these are fine specimens," Peter said. "We have excellent equipment here at the castle for our occupants, but this bow and quiver are finer than that. This is royal standard, here."

Running her hand over the cool wood, Enna nodded. "They are fine-looking."

"Oh, here comes Aramir," Peter said, standing. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas, sire!" Aramir called, bowing while still a few meters away. He _did_ look very nice in his new attire, Enna thought happily. "Ah, I see my patient is still alive."

"I'm a bit ill," Enna admitted to Peter with a shrug.

"I was wondering why you sounded a bit hoarse."

Aramir grinned at the laconic look on Enna's face. "I had to nearly shove her breakfast down her throat, Your Majesty."

"I see it worked."

"Aye. Poor Enna, being ill on Christmas Day."

"That reminds me, Aramir," Peter said. "Father Christmas left a gift for you last night. Here you are." He handed the long, flat package to Aramir.

"I'm afraid I didn't get Father Christmas anything," Aramir said, sitting on Enna's other side and tearing the paper away from the thin box.

"Oh, hush and open it."

Grinning, Aramir pulled the lid from the box. His grin disappeared quickly.

"What is it?" Enna asked.

In answer, Aramir set the box on the table and pulled out a glittering longsword, the smooth steel rasping slightly against the box as he removed it. "I believe it's a sword, Enna."

Peter gave a low whistle. "Would you look at that."

Enna leapt up and pulled the blade down so she could look at it, holding it gingerly. "Look, Peter, there's an inscription in the same language."

"The same?" Aramir said. "What do you mean?"

"_'__Vir ut insisto Leo mos have totus semita no rectus pro is.'_"

"The man that follows the Lion will have all…oh, by the lion's mane, that's all I know. Bugger."

"I received a bow and quiver from Father Christmas," Enna told Aramir, letting go of the sword. "It was inscribed with two mottos, neither of which we can understand. Peter wonders if I should learn to arch."

"I don't _wonder_, I strongly think," Peter replied.

Aramir turned the sword, looking at its gold and silver hilt—it was longer than Enna's arm. "It seems fit for a king."

"There's its name," Peter said, pointing to the blade. "_Arondight_."

"Arondight," Aramir repeated. "This is really mine?"

Peter nodded, and Aramir pulled his scabbard from the box, sliding it back onto the blade until it locked securely at the hilt. "Perhaps I should learn to wield a sword, eh?"

"I'd be glad to teach you," Peter said.

Enna was silently comparing their gifts. Aramir's scabbard was of the same glossy red leather as her quiver, and bore the same gold pattern. The workmanship was identical. Did that mean something?

"Well, I think I'll return to my siblings, then" Peter said, bowing slightly. "Happy Christmas."

Enna curtsied and Aramir bowed, both rather distracted by their fine but rather worrying gifts. "What do you think this means?" Enna asked as Peter walked away.

"I don't know," Aramir said, reaching around and buckling Arondight to his belt. "But I think Peter's right—we ought to learn how to use these correctly."

Enna ran her hands over the smooth yew of her bow. "Perhaps. I suppose it wouldn't hurt…"

--

_A/N: Just a nod to L.A.H.H.—Aramir's little quote about 'Poor Enna, being ill on Christmas Day' came from her. Thanks! :D_

_Hey, I just thought of something…I haven't really made it a priority to describe how Enna looks, beyond her oftentimes-unruly hair. How do you all imagine her? Tall? Short? Pretty? Plain? Blue eyes? Green eyes? Brown hair? Black hair? I'm actually kinda interested to see how she comes across to you. So tell me what you think she looks like!_


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

_A/N: Happy 2009, everybody! Now, this chapter is short, but I'm too tired from last night to think hard and write another 6-pager like last chapter. At least you're getting timely updates! :D Anyhow, it may seem like a bit of a filler, but it leads nicely into next chapter's conflicts. Bwahaha!_

--

By the next morn, most of the snow blanketing the ground around the castle had melted, and the river was flooding its banks. The new year dawned bright and unseasonably warm, and Enna was able to sit on a bench in the courtyard in the middle of January with the hood of her cloak thrown back while Peter and Aramir practiced fencing in front of her. The clang of clashing steel echoed off the stone walls of the towers surrounding the courtyard, broken occasionally by hisses of pain, mainly on Peter's part as Aramir got used to aiming his new weapon. The two made an impressive pair, Peter in a leather jerkin and Aramir trying to get accustomed to a chain mail shirt.

"And always remember—it is essential to block. Keep your opponent's strike away from your body, or you'll regret it—like that. Excellent. Parry four. One, two, three, four. Good. Keep your shield up."

Enna sat on her hands, her bow and quiver slung over her shoulder to keep them dry. "Watch your lower right!"

Just in time, Aramir blocked Peter's low strike, and splinters flew from his shield. "Ace!" Peter exclaimed. "Good work. Are you ready to stop?"

Aramir, red-faced and tugging at the hot mail, nodded. "Aye, sire…for a bit." The two young men shook hands before returning their swords to their scabbards and dropping their scarred shields to the ground.

"You're really improving, Aramir," Enna said as they came towards her. "A few days ago, you could scarcely lift your buckler after a few minutes of parrying."

"Thank you for the reminder," he said, flopping down to lie on the cool cobblestones, resting his back against the bench.

"No, really, Aramir, you have," Peter said, sitting in a bit more dignified manner next to her. "I'm a bit sore, myself. You're a quick learner, and I'm sure all those years working on a ship have helped."

Aramir groaned. "I hope this comes in useful some day."

"I do, too," Peter said, stretching his shoulders with a pained grimace. "I ought to practice more often, myself."

"What I'd like now is to see Enna give her bow a whirl, by herself," Aramir replied. "She does all right when you help her, sire, but I want to see if she can do it alone."

Enna flushed. "I don't think I can…"

"No, it's a good idea!" Peter said, getting up and extending a hand. "Here, Enna, I'll go set up the targets."

She accepted his hand and stood up. "Well, all right…"

Peter smiled and went off to drag out the hay-stuffed targets, setting them up at alternating distances against the castle walls. Enna shrugged her cloak back over her shoulders, removing her bow from her quiver and fitting it with a white-fletched arrow.

"All right, then, remember to keep your elbow straight, and let the body of the bow rest in your hand, not in your fingers."

Enna saw a list of everything she'd learned scroll in front of her eyes as she stepped up into position. She lifted the bow and sighted down the arrow at the first target, remembering exactly how Peter'd held her arms in the right location.

"Whenever you're ready," he called.

She took a deep breath and loosed the arrow, and it whistled into the second circle from the bull's-eye.

"Fantastic!" Aramir said, leaping to his feet and hurrying to her side. "That was fantastic!"

"I ought to call Susan to come down and help," Peter said with a grin. "I daresay you're getting too good for my teaching."

Enna shook her head, smiling. "You know better than I that I have plenty of practice ahead of me before I'm nearly as good as you."

"But at the rate you're going, you might just get there in a timely fashion. Here, try the next—it's a bit farther away."

A little more confidently this time, Enna fitted another arrow to her bow, aligned it with the target, and let it loose, sending it flying into the same position as before.

"Excellent!" Peter said. "You have your stance down perfectly. The only thing you need to work on is your aim, and that really just comes with practice. Get the feel of your bow, and always take into account wind direction."

Enna moistened the tip of her finger and held it up exaggeratedly, feeling for a breeze. "Like this, sire?"

"I shan't dignify that with a response."

"I'd best be careful, Aramir," Enna said, "or His Highness will have my head!"

"Don't tempt His Highness, lass, he's got a longsword at his side."

Enna smiled and tucked a curl behind her ear. "Luckily, I've got a tall, strapping sailor to protect me."

"Unluckily, this tall, strapping sailor is too tired to defend your honor," Aramir said mournfully.

At this, Peter drew his sword from its sheath. "An excellent learning opportunity, Aramir. What will you do if your foe tires more slowly than you? Will you lay down your sword and let him kill you, just because you're bushed?"

"I hope not." Aramir drew Arondight again, and the two men took their positions. Enna wisely got out of the way.

"Ready," Peter said, "steady, and—now!"

There was a jarring clang of metal on metal as Peter and Aramir went at each other with a ferocity that Enna hadn't seen either of them display before. The swords flashed up and down at an almost astonishing rate of speed, the scrape of the young men's boots on the hard stone and their strained, laboring grunts echoing off the surrounding walls. Enna vaguely wondered if she should ask them to stop—their movements were so quick and calculated that she feared one of them would misstep and lose a finger.

A loud, dull thud announced the contact of Aramir's sword with Peter's shield. Peter stumbled back a step before renewing his fierce assault, rapidly regaining any ground he'd previously lost. Aramir faltered under Peter's intensity, his shield shuddering with the might of the high king's blows.

"That's quite enough," Enna announced quickly, taking a step forward as Peter forced Aramir towards a set of low stone steps, his shoulders back and eyes ablaze. Both adrenaline-charged youths ignored her, however, and sparks flew as they both put their full weights behind mighty strokes.

The swords locked in midair, Peter's blade caught on Aramir's hilt. Sweat streamed down their red faces as their shields jostled together, and both young men shifted their feet, trying to gain enough strength to push their opponent off. Enna bit her lip in agitation.

"Give up—Minodaurus!" Peter grunted. "I've—won!"

"Not—yet," Aramir rejoined, breathing hard and grimacing as sweat ran into his eyes.

They struggled vainly for a few more moments. Then, suddenly, Peter gathered his strength and gave a monumental shove. Aramir stumbled backwards, caught his heel on a step, and fell with a painful-sounding crash to the ground; his sword flew out of his hand and clattered to the stones several meters away.

Peter leapt up the stairs and pressed the point of his blade to Aramir's chest, his breath coming in ragged huffs. "I've won."

Aramir groaned. "Yes, sire."

With a satisfied nod, Peter's battle stance loosened into a more relaxed one, and he slid Rhindon back into its sheath. "Very good, then."

Aramir rolled stiffly over and got wearily to his feet, retrieving his sword and returning it to the scabbard. "By the lion."

"Well, I hope you're happy," Enna said, stalking over and putting her hands at her hips. Her heart was thundering away in her ears, almost as if she'd done the fight herself. What if one of them had been killed? What if Aramir had murdered the high king? Or Peter a foreign guest? "You're injured, the both of you."

"What? Where?"

Enna pointed at Peter's hand and at Aramir's cheek, where long but superficial cuts were leaking blood. "There was no reason to engage him so viciously, Peter," she scolded. "And Aramir, you should not have retaliated in that manner."

"Ah, Enna," Aramir said lightly, "what's another scar to me? At least you and I match, now." He pointed to the faint scar under her eye, the only physical mark left from her trip in the brig.

"And we correspond, as well," Peter said, holding his hand up next to hers, where the skin on her palms was still slightly raised from the burns.

"That's no reason to try to kill each other," Enna insisted, folding her arms. "What if you had died, Peter? What would Narnia have done?"

"I wouldn't have died, Enna, don't be a goose."

"'I wouldn't have died, Enna, don't be a goose,'" Enna mimicked, much to Aramir's amusement. "He managed to cut your hand, what if he'd cut your neck instead?"

"Have you no faith in my ability?"

"I have no faith in any silly boys who have sharp weapons in their hands," Enna retorted. "Able or not."

"Fine," Aramir said gently. "We'll only try to murder each other when you're not looking. Does that suit you better?"

Enna gave him a dark look. "I'd be suited best if you two didn't attack each other so violently."

"Oh, Enna, you take all the fun out of teaching," Peter teased. "But, Aramir, my friend, the lady has spoken. Shall we heed her pleas?"

"Tell you the truth, sire, I'm afraid to see what she'd do if we didn't."

Peter laughed. "Well spoken. Enna, we'll mind your word."

Light snowflakes began to fall from the sky as Enna sighed, uncertain as to trust the pair or not. "I'll hold you to that."

"I would expect nothing less," Peter said with a bow.

Biting her lip a moment, she couldn't resist adding, "You two _did_ look in fine form, however."

Aramir laughed. "And so it comes out. She is angry with us at our seeming foolishness, but also pleased by our skill."

"Oh, but can we blame her?" Peter said. "We are outstanding specimens of the male persuasion, are we not?"

Enna felt her face grow hot. "Don't overreckon yourselves so, my lords."

They laughed, and Peter bowed again. "Let us go in to dinner, then, my lady."

Shaking her head and hiding a smile, Enna agreed and followed the two teasing youths back into the castle just as a cool breeze swept in from over the Sea, bearing with it a rush of silent snowflakes and the smell of a storm.

--

_A/N: Hey, thanks for that wonderful response about what you guys think Enna looks like! Most of you guys were pretty dead-on when I compared your ideas to mine. D'you want to hear what I think she looks like? …Well, I guess you don't have a choice. XD _

_Anyway, I think of her as somewhat tall, maybe five-eight (not as tall as I am, though, haha!), with a kind of subtle, earthy prettiness (the kind that at first glance isn't really there, and then when you start to notice it, it's not at all supermodel pretty…you know what I mean?). She's got eyes that are hazel-y but have undertones of green, and fair-colored skin with a good amount of freckles, perhaps easily sunburned. Not skinny, but strong. Her hair is longish, to her middle back, at least (though it's always back in a braid), and is a light, slightly reddish, brown. Overall, she's not all that special at first glance._

_So, I hope that all you who didn't in the first place will jump on the bandwagon and tell me what they think, too, because I get a perverse sort of satisfaction when I learn how people see my characters. :D Until next time, then!_


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

_A/N: Hey, everyone! Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than expected, but my mom decided I needed to come out of my room yesterday and today. :P But I did work hard on it while I could, so I hope you enjoy! _

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The next morning dawned white and cold—the heavens had opened during the night and coated every flat surface with a thick mantle of snow. Enna sighed resignedly, as she'd just gotten used to the bare grass again, but the castle was in an excited uproar all around her—the much-anticipated Great Snow Dance was to be held that night! The cooks prepared a late, light lunch, for the supper feast would be like nothing Enna had ever experienced (or so she was told), held in a forest glade, bathed in the light of the moon and flickering braziers pushed into the frozen ground. There was to be dancing, games, good food, warm wine, and, best of all, _stories, _told by master raconteurs and ambient music. It was the highlight of the winter social calendar, far surpassing any balls or grand feasts held that season. Rumor had it that the four monarchs had commanded it to be the finest celebration ever seen in Narnia, for a distinguished ambassador from the faraway country of Nymru had arrived just the night before, seeking out Queen Susan's favor for his king.

"Milady, it is time to prepare for the feast."

Enna looked up from the book she'd been reading to Aramir, brow furrowed. "But Naeomi, it's scarcely four o'clock. The feast doesn't begin until eight."

The dryad bowed respectively to Aramir. "Milady is already late."

"Why? What is there to do besides don a cloak?"

"Oh, milady!" Naeomi was clearly scandalized, and she flung herself down to kneel at Enna's side. "Milady, there is _much_ to do! We must wash milady's hair and dry it before the fire, and milady must be dressed with care, and adorned for the festivities!"

Enna felt her cheeks grow hot, and she threw an apologetic glance to Aramir, who was watching politely. "Naeomi, that is all foolishness, meant only for girls who wish to beguile the lords present."

"Precisely," Naeomi said, clasping her leafy hands under her chin. "The Nymrunian legate has brought a council of _two score_ gentlemen!"

"They are here to observe Her Highness Queen Susan," Enna said, her embarrassment mounting, "not simple girls."

"Nevertheless!" Naeomi was clearly getting irritated. "Milady must come with me to prepare."

"Go on, Enna," Aramir said considerately. "The book can wait."

"I don't wish to be decorated and paraded about in front of Their Excellencies like an auction horse," Enna replied stubbornly. "I wish to eat and then listen to the storytellers, that is all."

"Please, milady," Naeomi begged. "You would make Their Highnesses very happy if you made a positive first impression on their guests. You must be introduced to them, you know, being the king's lady."

Enna winced. "Naeomi, I—"

"She makes a valid point," Aramir said quietly. "You ought to go."

"I'm not—"

"Milord is prudent," Naeomi said, eyeing Enna.

Enna's shoulders sagged as she realized she had no choice. Sighing in defeat, she closed the book and tucked it under her arm, swinging her legs out from under her. "I'll go. But I won't like it."

"You are the stubbornest lass I know of," Aramir said, standing up and offering her a hand.

Enna ignored it and stood. "I'm not stubborn. I just don't wish to—"

Naeomi took her hand and began to tug her from the library. "Come along, milady."

Enna huffed a sigh, and Aramir waved. "I'll meet up with you later, I suppose."

"If I survive," she said tragically.

Aramir laughed, and then Naeomi shut the door behind them. "We must hurry now, milady," she said, tugging Enna down the corridor. "I've seen milady's hair, and I can only guess how long it will take for it to dry."

"I—you're going to wash my hair? Why in the world would you need to do that?"

Naeomi gave her a cynical look, shooing her up the staircase. "I have hot water already drawn for your bath. You must get in it right away and scrub your every inch!"

Enna tripped over her hem and pulled the gown out of the way. "All right…"

"And you simply _can't_ wear one of your plain old frocks," Naeomi continued. "The hems are all ragged! They are much too ordinary and workaday for a feast."

"I like them," Enna said defensively.

"Nevertheless." Naeomi opened Enna's door and pushed her through. "The queen has made a gown specially for milady, and you must wear it."

"She _what_?" Enna said. "But…but she's done so much for me already! I'm quite content with the frocks she's delivered—"

Naeomi shut the door behind them and began to unlace Enna's stays. "She wrote a note for you to read, milady, I believe it's with the gown."

It was then that Enna saw a paper package on her mattress. "Oh, Naeomi, just a moment," she said, brushing the dryad's hands from her dress.

"Not yet, milady!" Naeomi finished untying Enna's stays. "You must get in the tub before the water cools."

Enna was now burning with curiosity, but Naeomi was insistent, pulling her dress off and wrestling with her shift. Dressed in nothing but her bare skin, Enna was forced to stand on the cold flagstones and shiver as Naeomi grappled with her tangled plait. The moment her hair was loose, Naeomi pushed her towards the tub and dunked her head under the water as soon as she had settled down.

"We wouldn't have to do this if milady had simply come upstairs with me when I asked," Naeomi said lightly as Enna sputtered, beginning to scrub her long locks. "Start to wash, now, milady, and be sure to get behind your ears."

Enna rubbed the water from her eyes, scowling, and began to wash her arms and legs.

"Milady will thank me when I'm through," Naeomi said, rinsing Enna's hair with warm water. "Everyone in the palace will be at the feast tonight. It would do no good to still look like the sea rat you were six months ago."

Naeomi's nonchalant words stung. Frowning, Enna splashed water up her arms, rinsing away the soapsuds. "I don't like being uncomfortable."

"Milady hasn't worn Narnian clothes very long, have you?" Naeomi said knowingly.

"Well, no, but I wore Galmanian court dresses before, and they itch terribly. _And_ pinch."

"But this is _Narnia_, milady," Naeomi said, leaning over to look at Enna. "In Narnia, we are free, women are allowed to choose their own husbands, and even our finery is soft and comfortable."

Enna blinked. "Well, I…I guess I haven't thought of it that way."

Naeomi smiled and rinsed her hair a final time. "There, milady, you may get out."

Pulling a terrycloth around herself, Enna stood, and Naeomi wrapped a warm robe about her shoulders and pointed her to a chair by the roaring fire. "Have you seen the gown Queen Susan had made for me?" Enna asked. "Is it _really_ as soft and comfortable as you say?"

"I'll let milady see it for yourself after I untangle your hair," Naeomi said, beginning to run a bone comb through Enna's mane. "After I finish, dry your hair by the fire—don't plait it."

Enna winced, but, out of deference for her maid, kept from struggling. The process was over more quickly as a result, and she flipped her sodden hair over her head and ran her fingers through it, separating the curls so they would curl faster.

"What o'clock is it?" she asked.

"I would say about 4:30," Naeomi replied. "The sun is almost set."

Enna could see the steam rising from her hair as it dried in the warmth from the fire. "I _am_ sorry for being so contrary…"

"Ah," said the dryad, shaking out Enna's damp towel, "milady is a young woman. It's to be expected."

Enna smiled into her hair, thinking that Naeomi would make a good mother.

A long hour and a half later, Enna's locks, usually flat and crimped from their perpetual braids, had dried to all their riotous auburn glory, much to her dismay. "Oh, Naeomi, it's terrible," she sighed, looking in the streaked mirror at her unruly curls. "It'll quite get in my face while I'm trying to eat and listen to the storytellers."

"Nevertheless, I won't let milady leave this room with it hidden in silly braids." The maid pushed Enna into her chair and started currying the mess with a horsehair brush. "This is a formal occasion, and you have lovely hair."

"I don't."

"You just don't know how to handle it, milady."

Enna sat in silence. Had she ever really _tried_ to tame her hair? She hadn't really ever bothered with it before, just thrown it back in a plait every morning and forgotten about it. But as she watched, Naeomi's twiggy hands smoothed her angry curls into soft, gentle waves that settled cooperatively about her shoulders and down her back.

"See?" Naeomi said smugly, touching a leftover curl. "Milady has lovely hair."

"It'll still get in my face," Enna protested.

"I have the perfect solution." Naeomi produced a flat wooden box from her voluminous pockets and opened it, displaying a burnished bronze circlet atop a handkerchief. "The younger queen suggested milady borrows this."

"Oh, I can't—!" Enna cried. "Queen Lucy is very good, but I can't…"

"Look at it, milady," Naeomi said. "It is very plain and very thin. I doubt Her Majesty has less than ten finer ones."

"But I'll look so pretentious and silly!"

"Is milady not a gentleman's daughter?"

"Well, aye, in a sense, but—"

"Then milady is more than entitled to wear it. Now hold still." So saying, Naeomi took the bits of hair nearest Enna's face and pinned them just behind her ears. "Charming!"

Enna was loath to admit it, but it did keep her locks out of her face. "That _is_ better, I suppose…"

Naeomi set the circlet on her brow and ran a hand through her hair. "There you have it. As fair and winsome as any lass in Narnia."

"I would not be surprised to find that I was one of the _only_ lasses in Narnia."

Chuckling, Naeomi went over to her bed and picked up the paper package that had been pricking Enna's curiosity for the past two hours. "If you please to open this now, milady…"

"Of course I do!" Enna took the package from her, the paper crinkling. "Ah, here's the note…"

She opened the folded parchment. In an elegant hand, someone had written:

_My dear lady Enna,_—

_I know how dearly you prefer to wear muted colors, but when the time of the Great Snow Dance began to draw near, I had one of my seamstresses craft a new gown for you. You are much too diffident for your own good. I think it is high time for you to be the object of attention, for once!_

_It is quite different from the frocks you wear every day, but please do wear it just this once. It is very warm and comfortable, for my seamstress fashioned it in a style similar to one I own and adore. (I won't wear it tonight, though, so you may have all the praise for your lovely garments!) I think the colors will look lovely on you and in the moonlight._

—_Your friend Susan P._

"How thoughtful of Her Majesty!" Naeomi said. "Do open the package, milady."

Enna set aside the note and tore the paper. Folded neatly inside was a block of dark periwinkle cotton, soft and smooth to the touch.

"A lovely color," Naeomi said, taking it from Enna's stunned hands and unwrapping it completely. "Stand up, milady, and I will dress you."

She shook out the gown as Enna stood from her seat. "It…it looks rather shapeless," she said, looking at the cloth folded over Naeomi's arm.

"You're looking at the skirt, milady," Naeomi replied. "Now straighten your shift and put your arms up."

Enna did so, and Naeomi threw a dark red frock over her head. "What is this?" Enna protested, the cloth soft against her skin but longer that she was used to. She tugged up on the sleeves, trying to make them shorter.

"It's the wool underdress, milady," Naeomi explained. "It will give the overgown a full shape and keep your legs warm. Fix your hair, and then I'll put the other on."

Obediently, Enna pulled the ends of her hair out of the red dress, and Naeomi pulled the periwinkle gown over it. "Hold still, milady, and I'll lace you up."

Enna tried to get a glimpse of herself in the mirror as Naeomi tied the stays. The gown felt heavier than she was used to, and the skirt trailed a bit on the ground instead of skimming her ankles, as was the norm for her. And the sleeves—well, they were quite impractical! They were loose and rather short, the cloth ballooning out so they hung limply like skinned rabbits at her elbows. If it weren't for the sensible red underdress, her wrists would be quite bare.

Naeomi finished her stays and clasped her twiggy hands together at her throat. "Oh, milady…aren't you a sight to behold!"

Enna lifted the weighty skirts and went to the mirror. Almost despite herself, she let her mouth fall open in astonishment—so much skin was showing! _They would never let a lady dress like this in Galma_, she thought, touching her bare collarbone. A good _three_ _inches_ of flesh, from the base of her throat to the neckline of the gown, was exposed!

"I feel quite indecorous," she announced.

"Don't be silly," Naeomi said, pulling her away from the mirror. "Look at the rest of the gown!"

With a bit of difficulty, Enna looked beyond her bare collarbone and saw delicate gold embroidery all along the neckline of the gown. It glimmered in the firelight as she moved, and, despite herself, she felt a bit of joy at its beauty. "This is an exceptional bit of needlework…"

Naeomi bent and lifted Enna's hem, showing her the matching trim. "The queen thinks very highly of you, milady."

"Indeed, she does," Enna said breathlessly.

"Now, we must make a few adjustments, and then milady may relax," Naeomi went on.

"Adjustments?" Enna turned, her skirts swirling satisfyingly about her ankles. "I…I don't think it needs adjustments."

Naeomi took the periwinkle skirt and swept it up and aside a few inches, fixing it at Enna's hip with a gold brooch. "You mustn't step on this hem in the snow, milady. This shows the red quite nicely, doesn't it?"

Enna felt a bit lightheaded. She looked positively royal! "I…"

Naeomi led her to the chair and gave her a book. "There, there, lady. Rest for a bit before you don your cloak and go downstairs."

"I am quite eager to go, now!"

Smiling, the dryad patted her hand and smoothed a rebellious curl. "It'll come soon enough."

Enna sighed unhappily and looked out the window at the tossing sea. "Not soon enough for my liking!"

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_A/N: Bad Sushi! Y'know that conflict I was talking about last chapter? Well, I said it'd be in this chapter, but…as you can probably see, it's not. This chapter and the next were originally going to be one long chapter, but this one's already 5 pages long in Word, and it's getting late—I didn't think I could finish it all in time. So instead of one late, really long chapter, you get a less-late, good-length chapter. Hopefully I'll have 27 up by tomorrow! :D_


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

_A/N: Yay, I did it! I said I'd try to get this chapter up today, and I managed to do it, PLUS post the first chapter of "The Funny Farm and the Order of the Phoenix"! But, alas, alack, school starts again tomorrow! I'll try very hard to keep updating regularly, but I simply won't have the time to sit at my laptop for five hours a day and write. :P I wish I did, but, sadly, I don't. Darn homework!_

_In other news—OMGOSH! 300 reviews?? You guys are AMAZING! :D I can't believe my little baby has gotten so much attention. I really appreciate it, guys! Kudos to every single one of you! I'd name you all individually if I could, but there simply isn't time or room. But I hope you all know that I read each review, and really appreciate each second it takes to read the story and post responses. I can have the absolute worst day, and I'll come home and check my email, and the wonderful things you all say can instantly turn my mood around. :) Here's a big warm hug for you all!_

_Oh, yeah, and I hope this chapter's nice, too. XD_

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By a quarter to eight o'clock, Enna was more than ready. She had her warm wool cloak on over her warm cotton dress, and her boots, softened by the fire, were melding around her feet. Meeting no one on the staircase going down to the main castle only gave her more excuse to quicken her pace.

When she reached the main hall, there was a steady stream of creatures, many bearing torches, crowding through the towering doorway and over the drawbridge. Enna, pulling her hood up over her head and lifting her skirts with one hand, followed the river of flickering fire into the wood, the distant sounds of laughter and cheery music beckoning.

The moon shone softly on the snow, even through the blanketed trees, and Enna's heart gave a happy little leap when she came upon the clearing. Richly ornamented tables, laden with gold and silver plates, bejeweled goblets, and covered platters emitting tantalizing smells, encircled the large glade, thick braziers crackling behind each chair. The snow had been stamped down into an even carpet, making a nice flat surface in the center, and it crunched delightfully under Enna's feet. Narnians, young and old, were seated at the long tables, laughing and chatting merrily, a small band of musicians playing festive music nearby.

"Well met, my queen," said a deep voice in her ear, someone's hands closing on her shoulders.

Enna jumped, her hood slipping off, and spun around, stepping on her hem and falling to her back in the snow. "Who—what—"

The speaker was a broad-shouldered, red-haired giant of a man, dressed in garments of fine purple, his cloak edged with ermine—the Nymrunian ambassador. "Pardon me!" he said in his elegant accent, sweeping a low bow. "I mistook you, my lady, for someone else."

"It's no bother," Enna said breathlessly, her heart pounding with the sudden scare. "My lord is quite forgiven."

The ambassador bowed himself away, and Enna pushed herself back to her feet.

"I see you have made a positive impression on His Excellency."

Enna turned at the familiar voice. "Have I, Aslan…? He quite frightened _me._"

The tawny lion, bits of snow clinging to his mane, chuckled. "He was not negatively influenced."

"I hope not. I would feel terrible if I ruined Her Majesty's chance of a marriage with their king."

"It would take much more than a startled maiden to break off these marriage negotiations," Aslan replied. "His Highness King Galad desires Queen Susan as a bride above all else."

"Why does he send his men in his place, then?" Enna asked. "Why doesn't he come here to meet her?"

"Ah," Aslan sighed. "Young Enna, the ways of men are most strange."

"I have often thought that, myself."

"Hello, Aslan," called a badger, waving excitedly.

Aslan nodded to him. "Well met, Snuffleclaws."

"How goes the kingdom?"

"Fair, my friend."

"Most excellent!"

Aslan nodded again, and then said to Enna, "Come, my child, and walk with me a spell."

Enna followed him from the glade, the snow becoming soft underfoot. "Have I done something dreadful?" she asked fearfully.

"Your wrongdoing is not what I wish to speak about tonight," Aslan replied. "Rather, I have come to inquire after your progress."

Enna knotted her fingers together in front of her, the sleeves of her fine dress slipping down her arms. "I have given it much thought."

"And?"

"I…" Enna blew a long sigh. "I just…I still have trouble believing that you are really this…this exalted, all-knowing being. You're standing right here, I can feel your breath on my hands. How can you be the ruler of all, above everything, and yet still here among us?"

"You have felt Peter's touch, have you not?" Aslan asked.

"Aye…"

"Is he not the highest ruler in Narnia?"

"Well, yes," Enna replied, "but he is a boy, a real human, just like I am."

"And am I not a real lion?"

"You're not Peter, though," Enna said, getting a bit frustrated by Aslan's impervious logic. "You're higher than him."

"Now you're getting somewhere," Aslan replied, his golden eyes quietly smiling. "I am higher-ranking than Peter."

Enna huffed a sigh, pushing a bare branch out of her path.

"But you still don't believe what I say?"

"Not all of it."

"Not all? What do you believe, then?"

"I believe your name is Aslan, and you come from overseas. You answer only to the Emperor-Over-the-Sea."

"He is my father."

"Then…he's a lion, too?"

Aslan chuckled. "His form is the same as mine. This lion's semblance is the shape I take when I am here, in the West."

"But…"

"Have you seen any other talking lions?"

"Well, no…"

"I am one of the only. There are few talking lions, beyond myself. They are becoming fewer and fewer."

"But…the third prophecy," Enna said. "It…it hasn't come true yet, and the month wanes at sunup tomorrow."

"The night is yet young," Aslan replied.

Enna fell into puzzled silence. Aslan kept walking by her side, his great paws making no sound in the snow. She could hear the sounds of the Narnians again; he must have led her in an arc back to the clearing.

"We shall speak again later," Aslan said finally. "There are those who await your presence."

"Really?" Enna was surprised. "Who?"

They broke from the wood, the moon- and firelight a stark contrast to the soft darkness of the trees. Peter and his three siblings were seated at an elevated table nearby, the Nymrunian envoy positioned next to them. "Shall we commence, my royal brother?" she heard young Queen Lucy ask.

"I would like to, but our lady Enna promised she'd be here, and I don't wish for her to miss it."

Enna took up her skirts in her hand and went forth into the clearing. "I'm here, Peter."

He turned at the sound of her voice and immediately stood up, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste. "Enna—!"

"I'm sorry for delaying your feast, I was talking to Aslan…"

Peter bowed low to Aslan, who greeted him warmly before moving on to the other guests. "Don't feel bad, Enna, really."

"I am sorry."

"Quite forgiven. Lord Lorendo was just telling us how he mistook you for my royal sister."

Enna flushed. "He quite alarmed me, but I'm afraid I did him no great favor, either. I think I trod on his toe…"

His eyes dancing with laughter, Peter said, "He has expressed the belief that you are a Narnian duchess, or similar royalty."

"He _what_?"

"I didn't believe him at first, thinking that you are a highly agreeable girl, but not possessing the haughty look of royalty, but now that I've laid eyes on you…"

"Now that you've laid eyes on me, what?" Enna put her hands on her hips. "Do I look haughty to you?"

_"_What? No!" Peter ran his hands through his hair. "I didn't mean it that way at all. I meant…you look…"

While he was casting about for a suitable adjective, the two queens abandoned their seats and brushed him aside. "Lady Enna!" Queen Susan exclaimed, catching Enna's hands in hers. "You look wonderful! Did I not tell you, Lucy, that the cut was perfect for her build?"

"You did," Queen Lucy replied. "And it is!"

"I _so_ hoped it would suit you, Enna, dear. The color goes beautifully with her freckles, doesn't it, Peter?"

"Er—"

"Naeomi has done wonders with your hair," Lucy went on. "I never realized how lovely it is! I'm quite jealous."

Enna's face was burning by this point. "Thank you, Your Majesties," she said modestly, curtsying. "You were both very kind for lending me the use of your fine things."

"I think the circlet looks much better on you than it does me, Enna," said Lucy. "I'll let you keep it if you promise to wear it more often."

"Oh, Your Highness, I couldn't—"

"Do," Lucy insisted, taking one of her hands from Susan and patting it. "Consider it my Christmas gift to you."

"But I don't have anything in return."

"That's why it is a gift," Lucy said, her young face a bit surprised. "Haven't you ever gotten anything out of affection?"

"Oh, never mind that," said Susan. "Do you like the dress?"

"Aye, Your Majesty," Enna replied, unable to keep a smile off her face. "I didn't think I would, at first, but I do now. It is very comfortable."

"Good!" Susan said, squeezing her hand and then releasing it. "I hope you wear it again."

"I will."

"Go on, you silly geese," Peter said, shooing them back towards the table. "Entertain your guests."

"Oh, all right," Lucy said, wrinkling her nose at him. "But then you can't keep Enna all to yourself, either. You must start the feast!"

"We'll see." Peter winked at Enna as Lucy returned to her seat. "My sisters are good people."

"That they are."

He looked at her in silence for a moment before shaking his head as if he'd forgotten himself, offering her an arm. "Let me find you a seat."

Enna took it, and he led her away from the royal dais. "What did you tell the ambassador, anyway?"

Peter's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Well…"

She looked quickly over at him. "You didn't tell him I was a—a _sea rat_, did you?"

"No, of course not."

"Then what?"

"I…well, I didn't see any need to correct him."

"So he thinks I'm a _duchess_—!" The thought should have made her smile, but it only horrified her. "What am I to do? I—I know no court manners, at least not many, what if I should scandalize the envoy and cause them to abandon their quest for Queen Susan's favor!"

"Take ease," Peter told her with a smile. "My sister is not at all inclined to accept their proposal. We intend to tell them this in the near future, but not until we treat them to a bit of hospitality first. You needn't do anything."

Enna didn't like this idea. "But what if they ask me about Narnia? Your customs and practices?"

"They have no interest in lower royalty," Peter assured her. "You won't be bothered."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

Sighing, she said, "All right, then."

"There! You may bask in your pretend royalty all night."

She smiled.

"Ah. I have found you a proper seatmate." He released her hand and pulled out a seat next to Aramir, who looked around and stood up quickly.

"Enna!"

"…Aramir?"

He was a bit wide-eyed. "I…I didn't recognize you!"

"Neither did the ambassador," Peter teased.

"Oh—sire," Aramir said, as if he'd forgotten about Peter, and bowed low. "I…I didn't see you."

"Never mind that," Peter said. "Here, Enna, sit."

Aramir, keeping his eyes on Enna's, helped her into her seat, and Peter bowed himself away.

"You look lovely," he said, sitting down.

"Thank you," Enna said, her stomach rumbling as servers went around and uncovered the platters.

"Here, let me help you," Aramir said as she reached for a pitcher of mead. He stood and poured her a goblet.

"You're being very considerate tonight," she commented.

"I suppose all these Nymrunians have rubbed off on me."

She smiled as the feast commenced. "If so, then you must think me a duchess!"

A good hour later, when everyone was full and starting to get sleepy, Peter stood up. "And now…for the Great Snow Dance!"

The musicians started playing a haunting, yet fast-paced, tune, and Enna noticed a gaggle of Dwarfs in their finest clothes coming between a few tables.

"Is this it?" she whispered to Aramir.

"I think so."

All of the Dwarfs had a basket full of snowballs, Enna saw as they formed a circle in the center of the tables.

"How curious!" she murmured.

It was soon to get more curious. Suddenly, the Dwarfs leapt into motion, doing complicated movements with their feet as they danced around in a ring. Every few beats, they all reached into their baskets and tossed a snowball between the two Dwarfs across from them. The missiles missed very closely on several occasions, drawing gasps from the audience.

Enna was enthralled—she had never seen anything so fascinating, not in all her years. The Dwarfs were dancing around so quickly that their feet were a blur, and the music was stirring Enna's heart to faster and faster pulses! She wanted to leap to her feet and join the revelers, her skirts whirling around her ankles and the stars spinning crazily over her head.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the music stopped, and Enna remembered where she was, though her heart was racing and her breath coming in quick gulps. The Narnians were applauding wildly, and the Nymrunians giving a standing ovation as the Dwarfs took a bow and trooped out through the tables.

"Ooh, this is my favorite part," said a pretty she-faun on Enna's left.

"What is?"

"The dancing, of course!"

The musicians took a deep breath and struck up another tune, the pipes whistling merrily in time with the pounding drums. The two queens stood up and began to cavort about, their gay laughter convincing other palace dwellers to join them in a teeming, joyous dance. Enna longed to get up and join the merry-makers, but there were too many reasons she could think of to keep her quietly in her seat.

That is, until Aramir stood up and caught her hand in his large one. "Come along, Enna, take off your cloak and be happy."

She didn't need telling twice. Pushing her chair back, she unpinned her cloak from around her neck and let Aramir lead her out into the mass of people. Someone took her other hand, and suddenly she was being pulled along in a rush of colors and music, the spectators clapping along.

It took her a few moments to gain her feet, but when she did, she found herself whirling about with everyone else. The stars spun gaily above her head, and the snow crunched with each light footstep, and her long curls caught each breeze as they wafted through the clearing. She could hardly think, she was so caught up in the excitement, but all she knew was that she never, _ever_, wanted to leave Narnia.

Eventually, the music wore down, and Enna quickly realized how tired she now was. But the smile that was on her face would not relax, and she was filled with such delight that she didn't care how weak and wobbly her legs were. Aramir, his laugh rumbling in his chest, helped her back to her seat, and the Nymrunians applauded the winded musicians as desserts were brought out.

Enna clapped along for a few moments before she noticed Peter trying to catch her eye. When she gave him a quizzical expression, he beckoned for her to come.

"Pardon me for a few moments, Aramir," she said, standing up and going to the royal dais.

"Ah," Peter said, standing at her approach. The red-haired, mustachioed Nymrunians all hastily leapt to their feet when they saw her. "Gentlemen, I present to you Lady Enna. My lady, please to make the acquaintance of Lord Lorendo and his cortège."

"How do you do," Enna said feebly, suddenly unsure of herself again as she curtsied.

The red-haired Lord Lorendo stepped down from the dais and kissed her hand, bowing low. "We are very well, madam. Your people are very hospitable."

"Please, gentlemen, sit," Peter said, throwing her a wink and indicating a chair at his right, next to Lorendo.

Enna took a deep breath and sat, keeping her head high and shoulders back in what she hoped was a regal posture. Peter bent over as if he were adjusting her chair, but his voice tickled in her ear: "The envoy is impressed with you. Try to engage them in conversation." In a louder voice, he said, "My lady Enna, you are quite the talk of the table tonight."

"Oh," Enna breathed, her face suddenly burning with fearfulness. "And…why is that, my lords? Have I displeased you in some way?"

She was serious in her questioning, but the Nymrunians laughed as if she had made some witty joke. "My lady is the farthest from displeasing," Lorendo said, motioning for a dryad to pour her a goblet of wine.

Enna snuck a look at Peter, who seemed to be enjoying her little charade. "I am glad to hear it."

"I have been telling Lord Lorendo how well schooled you are in our history, my lady," said Peter, drinking from his goblet.

"You—what?"

"Indeed he has, madam," said Lorendo. "It pleases us to see that Narnia values the education of its royalty as highly as Nymru does."

Enna was sure he could hear her heart pounding! "The upper class is nothing without education, indeed," she replied, praying for composure.

"For sooth," said Lorendo, looking at his entourage once before leaning closer to her. "Tell me, my lady, what have you heard of _our_ kingdom?"

"Nymru?" Enna said, taking a deep breath. "I…I have heard it is of arctic climes, very cold."

"Indeed, indeed, but what of our government?"

Enna bit her lip. "It is…" She'd heard it called a tyranny, but she could not say that to the ambassador's face. "I believe your king wields greater power than those of kingdoms farther south."

"Well put, madam," Lorendo replied. "We believe that our rulers are set above the commonfolk, who are so mentally inferior that they are in constant need of careful, tight government."

Enna felt a twist of disagreement at his words. "I see. What if, sir, it is the other way around? What if there comes a king that is terribly injudicious, and cannot see beyond the walls of his castle? And his subjects realize their tragic circumstances, and have valid concerns and solutions? Are they muffled?"

"Of course," Lorendo replied. "The commonfolk are common for the very reason that their intellects are substandard."

"Are they really?" Enna said disbelievingly. "Do you test your schoolchildren, and judge the results, and come out with that conclusion?'

"We do not have schools for the peasants, my lady."

Horrified, Enna said, "And yet you say you value education!"

"Education for the _noble_," Lorendo clarified.

"What if a great mind arose from the lower class? Would you stifle it? Ignore her pleas for change?"

"'Her'?" Lorendo said. "Oh, certainly, my lady, you cannot be serious."

"Cannot be serious about _what_?"

"I mean no affront to your sex, madam," said Lorendo, slowly, "but of all the persons to have intellect, a _lady_ would be the last."

Enna, her head reeling with outrage, stood up abruptly and walked away, not realizing until later that she had taken no leave of either the Nymrunians nor Peter.

"Are you ill?" Aramir asked when she returned to him. "You are quite flushed."

She sat down, tossing her hair unhappily. "Do you think me clever, Aramir?"

He blinked. "Well, aye, of course. I have met many men who are less canny than you."

"Then I am not crazy."

"Should I think you so?"

Enna sighed. "The Nymrunian ambassador 'means no affront to my sex', of course, but thinks that women, of all the stupid masses of the world, are the _stupidest._"

"Did you insult him first?"

"What? Of course not!" She plucked a grape from a plate of fruit and rolled it between her wobbly fingers. "I am very displeased. I thought him rather nice, and very cordial, but what he believes are quite the opposite."

"Are you glad you were arrested in Narnia, then?" Aramir asked with a smile.

"Aye, _very_."

Aramir reached for the hand that held the grape and stilled her trembling fingers. "Try not to think on it. You are not Her Majesty the queen, and you do not have to worry about marrying their king."

"That _is_ true," Enna admitted.

"Look. The storytellers are coming."

Enna sat up at this—she had been waiting for this moment all day! The musicians began to play a soft, elegiac melody as an aged centaur, swathed in a thick blanket against the chill night air, came between the tables, his worn hooves scraping the snow. "Your Majesties," he said, approaching the royal dais and bowing low. His voice was deep and resonant.

"Good e'en, Amycus," said Peter. "What do you have for us tonight?"

"I wish to recount the tale of Olvin the Archenlandian," said the centaur.

"Proceed."

Enna's breath caught in her throat with excitement.

Amycus turned around, his hooves leaving deep indentations in the snow. The musicians' music took on a distinctly mysterious tone, and he looked around at the Narnians, his dark eyes flashing in the firelight.

"Tonight, the story of an Old World will be told to the New. It is my intent and purpose that all present tonight take from my tale a moral, and through it bring prosperity to Aslan's kingdom.

"My story begins in the World of old, four hundred and seven years after the reign of King Frank and Queen Helen, two hundred and twenty-seven years after the reign of King Col of Archenland, one hundred and sixty-three years before the time of Moonwood the Hare, four hundred and twenty-one years before the return of the White Witch Jadis from the Far North, four hundred and twenty-three years before the beginning of the Hundred-Year Winter, five hundred and ninety-three years before the reign of our most high rulers, and five hundred and one years before this day.

"The World of old was no different in landscape and terrain from the World of today. Cair Paravel rested on the shores of the Sea, and the Great Waterfall rumbled in the far West. King Gurd, a Son of Adam, ruled from the throne of Cair Paravel, and his fellow man, King Od, from the throne of Archenland.

"Colvin of Archenland was a mighty warrior in that day, of brawny chest and strong arm. He was King Od's most trusted general, possessing a mind and will of steel. King Od trusted Colvin above all others.

"One year, the giants of Ettinsmoor in the North waged a mighty war amongst themselves. King Gurd's border guard was destroyed in its attempts to defend Narnia's northernmost reaches against their feuding neighbors. A wave of displaced giants flooded southward, wreaking havoc and causing destruction wherever they went, until they were confronted by the full strength of King Gurd and his army. A great battle was waged and won by the Narnians on the banks of the Archen River, and the giants turned back to Ettinsmoor

"The giant Pire managed to cross the Archen Mountains into Archenland, however, undetected by Sons of Adam until he approached the castle Anvard. Archenland was thrown into a panic, for Pire had determined to carry away King Od and his wife Queen Bryd if they did not appease his demands within the space of forty days. But Archenland could not answer him, for his requests were for more cattle and grain than the good people of Archenland could butcher or harvest in a year's time.

"Desperate for a solution, Od held a contest of strength, the prize being his lovely daughter Hilde. The most stalwart men in the land gathered at Anvard, and each took up a sword and shield, and attempted to slay the giant Pire. All failed, and all were killed.

"Quite distressed, Od called for Colvin, his beloved general, on the twenty-ninth day of failed assaults.

"'You must help us,' said Od, 'for if we do not appease the giant, he will slay your king and your queen, and dear Archenland shall be overtaken.'

"'Fear not, my king,' said good Colvin. He took up his armor and shield, but refused a sword, requesting only a slingshot of yew and five smooth stones, polished in the Archen River. These he was given, and he went out to meet the giant while the people waited in fear.

"Pire came out to meet him, laughing at the sight of this unarmed Son of Adam. But Colvin slung his slingshot and struck the giant on the ear. Calling out in pain, the giant turned and fled, and Colvin pursued him from Anvard all the way to the Archen Mountains. There he slung the slingshot once more and struck the giant on the forehead, and Pire fell dead. Without a sword or javelin, Colvin killed him. As proof of his success, Colvin took the giant's sword and cut off his head.

"Colvin returned triumphant to Anvard, and King Od met him on the streets of the city. 'Well done, my servant,' he said, seeing the giant's head. 'You shall have the lovely Hilde as your bride.' Olvin refused the king's offer, for the princess was far too beautiful and graceful to wed a rough soldier.

"But Hilde, leaning from her tower window, caught sight of proud Colvin, and her heart loved him. She entreated her father, and pined away on her sickbed, until King Od relented and made Colvin heir to his throne. When Colvin discovered that the princess had petitioned for his promotion, and lay dying for love of him, he went up to her, and kissed her pale cheek. 'I shall wed you, dearest Hilde,' he told her.

"Upon hearing this, Hilde sprang from her bed, fully recovered, and they were married that very morn. The kingdom rejoiced, for their first child was a son, whom they named Ur, and he grew to be a strong and righteous king.

"The giant's body rotted in the mountains, and great stones grew atop the corpse, higher and higher, until it rose above all others in the Archen Mountains. To this day, the peak is called Mount Pire.

"And that is how Colvin of Archenland slew the giant Pire and won himself a kingdom and a wife."

Amycus bowed his head, and the Nymrunians led the rest of the audience in enthusiastic applause. Enna clapped along, her head awhirl with all the images the story had left behind—a proud, broad-shouldered warrior winning the heart of a lovely princess, slaying a giant and saving a kingdom…! How she _wished_ adventures like that still occurred!

A white-bearded Dwarf entered the ring of tables after this, settling a tiny stool into the snow. "Your Highnesses," he announced himself, bowing to the kings and queens.

"Good e'en, Guffer," said Peter. "What do you have?"

"I wish to present the tale of Moonwood the Hare, Your Majesties."

"Excellent. Proceed."

Guffer seated himself on the stool and put his hands over his knees, clearing his raspy throat. "My story begins—"

He stopped abruptly, lifting a lock of coarse white hair from his ear. The glade went suddenly silent as everyone listened, Enna and Aramir unconsciously holding their breaths. There was a faraway sound that Enna detected, though it just seemed like an echo of the flickering and popping torches. What was it? It sounded familiar, but it was too faint to tell…

Goblets and plates rattled as Peter stood quickly, looking south. Enna leaned over the table slightly, trying to see down the path. There was a red glow growing on the bare trees, and she heard the muffled 'ga-_lump_'ing of hooves in the snow.

"What news?" said Peter, his voice unnaturally loud in the quiet clearing.

A centaur, a flaming torch in his hand, came galloping into the dell, his coat and bare chest glistening with sweat. "Sire, the harbor is alight!"

King Edmund and Queen Lucy stood quickly, and a dismayed murmur swept the crowd.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked shortly.

"Sire, I saw it with my own eyes. The docks are well gone, and the warehouses are begun to burn. Everyone there is fighting the flames, but we are sorely outnumbered."

"Outnumbered?"

"My lord, did you not know? There are five frigates in the bay, and they are launching blazing arrows at our outbuildings!"

"They're _what_?" Peter slammed a fist on the table. "Have they struck battle colors? What kingdom?"

"Aye, sire, red and white flags. I fear it is Galma."

--

_A/N: Bwahahaha! So we reach the conflict! :D It took us a long time to get here, but there you have it! If I'd kept this chapter and 26 together, you'd be reading 16 pages (in Word) of straight text. :P_

_By the way, if you are at all interested, I posted a link on our profile—it leads to what I think is a very similar dress to Enna's. It's at the very bottom of the page, right above Bunny. :D_


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

_A/N: Hey, y'all! Sorry that this chapter took longer than last week—school started again for me on Monday, and I'm taking a weeklong creative writing course that required after-school writing. :P But I worked on it every day, just for you! ;D _

_In other news, Narnia Fanfiction Revolution has opened its voting booth! Follow the link on the top of our profile page to cast your final votes for 2008's "best of" Narnia fandom. Hurry, because voting closes on January 31! Thanks to all who nominated us—we're now in the running! :D_

--

The blood drained from Enna's head at the announcement. _Galma_? Why would her people have launched such an unprovoked attack on their trading ally? Galma was a peaceful island, only taking up arms when greatly wronged or a treaty broken. The only treaty that existed between Narnia and Galma was the Maritime Laws, which provided for safe passage of merchant and passenger ships, a fixed tax on all imports and exports taken by ships, and penalizing of stowaways and other fugitives.

Her heart and stomach lurched so violently at this thought that she felt liable to be sick. _She_ was a Galmanian fugitive! An involuntary gasp escaped her lips, and Aramir, coming to the same realization, took her hand and held it tightly.

Peter, his fists clenched, bowed to the centaur. "Thank you, Epimetheus. Kindly take your news up to the castle and have Nestor ring the alarm as loud as he can."

"Right away, sire." Epimetheus bowed quickly and galloped from the clearing.

The murmur of frightened voices rose, but Enna heard Peter say to the Nymrunians, "Pardon me, my good men, but I have a country to defend. My good people!" His voice rang against the trees, silencing every squawk and bray of panic. "My good people. Listen carefully, and heed my words. Every faun, horse, dog, centaur, Dwarf, and other creatures must return to the castle immediately. Those in the host, please report to the armory. All elders and children, remain in the castle."

The dogs let out a formidable howling, and the Narnians rose up and followed Peter's orders. Enna was too horrified to move on her own—her feet were frozen to the ground—but Aramir pulled her from her seat and into the throng of frightened creatures. "Oh, Aramir," she panted, clutching at his hand as they were pushed and pulled from each direction. "Do you think—do you think that it's because of—"

"I'm sure it's not," he said, but didn't sound very reassuring.

At that moment, Peter, his head uncrowned, caught up with them, taking Enna's other hand in a fearful grip. "Enna and Aramir, listen close," he said, his voice low and eyes blazing. "I want you two to _get away from the castle_. Flee inland. Do you hear me? If you are found, Aramir, you may be hung for being a traitor. Enna, you _will_ be returned to your uncle."

"Do you think that this is retribution, then?" she managed.

He closed his eyes briefly, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "I don't know for sure. But you must flee—flee for your lives. Take as many supplies as you need—and your gifts from Father Christmas. And find horses unwilling to fight, they will bear you swiftly away."

"Aye, Peter," Enna choked out, and Aramir tugged her away. In the distance, she heard an insistent bell, clanging urgently from the castle walls. Lights were flaring up all along the battlements, and distant shapes were running along the stone walls, some bearing torches and others spears.

Their feet soon thudded on the drawbridge, the sounds of sharpening steel and rattling armor meeting their ears. The inner courtyard was abuzz with activity, creatures of all shapes and sizes rushing to and fro, some with armfuls of white-fletched arrows and others with chain mail shirts. Enna and Aramir struggled through the crowds, Aramir's hand tight around hers. "Go upstairs," he said to her over his shoulder as they entered the castle. "Get clothes and blankets, and tie them up. I'll get the horses and supplies."

She nodded briefly and slipped her hand out of his, picking up her skirts, and ran as fast as she could up the northern staircase, tripping once on a step. It was an odd mix of emotions that tore at her soul as she hurried towards her room—her family had lived in Galma since the Old Days, and the thought that she could but in a moment be upon a native ship, surrounded by Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve once again, being borne away back to familiar soil, threatened to slow her hastening feet. But she could hear the clanging alarm bell tolling in another wing of the castle, and it reminded her of the blazing Narnian docks and the angry red Galmanian battle flags.

Once in her room, she shut the door and pulled her fine gown off before tossing it to her bed, throwing her wardrobe doors open and pulling her plainest frocks down from their hooks. In the chest at the foot of her bed she found a worn leather rucksack, and she put one of the frocks on and stuffed the other two into the sack. Her wool cloak went about her shoulders, and her soft doeskin boots she traded for the sturdy leather ones she'd brought from Galma.

As Enna passed the wide southern window, however, she caught sight of the faraway harbor. The water was blood red in the flickering light of the burning anchorage, and distant streaks of orange fire marred the inky night sky as flaming arrows were launched from five shadowed man-o'-wars. She could hear the distant shouting of the Narnians and their Galmanian attackers as smoldering shafts fell upon the dry grass and unsheltered buildings that the creatures were trying so hard to save. Charred bits of wood and straw fell from the wharfs and drifted away to sea, propelled by the nearby Great River as its waters emptied into the ocean. How dare her kinsmen do this? How _dare_ they!

She touched the cool stone wall of her comfortable little bedroom, looking around it. Peter and his people had been so good to her and Aramir—fed them, clothed them, _loved_ them, and she would repay them by escaping while they were left to defend themselves? What if the Galmanians found that she was missing? What if they managed to get ashore somehow and swept through Narnia, their curved swords flashing as they cut a path of destruction through this noble land?

Her mind was made up almost at the same time a harried knock sounded at her door. Dropping the pack from her shoulder and kicking it aside, Enna ran to open it, finding Aramir set and waiting in the corridor, Arondight buckled at his hip.

"Are you ready?"

"I'm not going."

"You're—_what_?"

"I'm staying here." Enna took the circlet off her brow as an afterthought, resting it on the desk. "I'm not going."

"Enna, are you _mad_?" Aramir, in two strides, was at her side, her wrist in his callused hand. "You heard His Majesty. He _commanded_ us to leave, for our own safety! And you wish to disobey?"

"I can't leave them here, Aramir!" she replied ardently. "Not when my own people are wreaking such havoc! I have to help."

"No, you don't. You have to _leave._"

"I'm staying here, Aramir, and that's that. I ran away once, but I _won't_ do it again, not when someone needs me! They have saved our lives, and we can't simply stay and help them defend their kingdom?"

She pulled him to the window and looked out at the blazing harbor. "Look, Aramir. Can I leave them to this all alone?"

Aramir was silent for a long moment as they watched through the thick glass, their breath fogging against the panes. At long last, he drew his shoulders back and said, "You're right. But I'm staying with you."

Enna knew she should at least try to dissuade him, so she could tell Peter she'd attempted it, but she was too relieved to know that Aramir would remain at her side. "Thank you."

He gave a decisive nod. "Come along, then, and take up your bow. You may need it."

Doing so, Enna slipped her quiver over her shoulder and positioned the strap across her chest, tightening the buckle until it sat securely against her back. "I think I'll need more arrows—my aim isn't all that good yet."

"Let's go down to the courtyard—I'm sure there are plenty arrows down there."

Enna nodded, a plan coming together in her mind already, and together they hurried downstairs, where busy fauns were fitting centaurs with steel breastplates, and Dwarfs were waddling about in tiny shirts of mail. King Edmund and Peter were in the middle of the chaos, buckling their swords over crimson tabards and mail shirts.

"I need arrows," Enna called to a Dwarf who was busily knotting heads to shafts. He grunted and reached down for a handful of white-fletched ones, which she slipped into her quiver.

"A buckler, master!" called a passing faun, motioning impatiently at a stack of steel shields, all emblazoned with a scarlet rampant lion.

Aramir ducked and picked one up, hefting the piece of armor in his left hand. "I see that practicing with His Majesty _will_ pay off, eh?"

"No, it most certainly will _not_."

Peter's voice was tense and full of barely-restrained anger behind Enna, and she and Aramir whirled about guiltily. "Peter," Enna said, more bravely than she felt, "I've decided to stay. If the Galmanians really are here for me, I have a duty to stand up to it. And if they're not, I still want to help."

"Enna, I have no time for this." Peter's eyes were blazing with an intensity Enna had never seen.

"You need human help," Enna argued stubbornly, balling her hands at her sides. "There's only so much animals and centaurs and fauns and dryads can do."

Peter took a threatening step forward. "Enwynna Stalresin, don't argue with me!"

Enna held her ground resolutely. "Peter Pevensie, hear me out. _I have a plan._"

"I want nothing of it."

"Wouldn't the Galmanians expect me to flee from the castle?" she challenged loudly as he turned away. "They do not think I will remain here."

Peter hesitated a moment, but pretended he hadn't heard.

Enna noticed and went on, encouraged. "What if we send the two horses out anyway, laden with supplies and a sword, and instruct them to gallop with all haste West—or south, to Archenland. Will we not need help from them? Then, you may tell the Galmanians that we've gone, and if they decide to search, they will find only rider-less horses, and assume the worst."

Peter turned partway around. "Will they not question the horses?"

"We—_they_—do not have talking beasts in Galma," Enna replied, gaining confidence. "I didn't know they even existed before I came here. If the soldiers do know about the talking animals, just tell them that the horses are dumb, and tell the beasts themselves not to say a word."

"If your uncle is onboard," Peter said slowly, "and he sees you, will he not recognize you?"

The mere thought of Sabsestrin made Enna's insides quiver with fear, but she only lifted her chin. "It has been a year since Lord Sabsestrin last laid eyes on me. He will not easily identify me in Narnian dress and…with my hair down. I believe I am taller, too."

"If you had looked anything like how you did when I first saw you on the _Seacharger_ when you were back in Galma," Aramir put in, "I would not know you for Enna today. You have grown fairer."

Enna blushed briefly before turning back to Peter. "Please, Peter, I…I _have_ to help."

"Peter, can you hurry it up a tad?"

Peter glanced over his shoulder at Edmund before waving his hand impatiently. "Aye, aye, Enna, all right."

Enna wanted to cheer with her success, but she only nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Peter. Are there any horses you prefer us to send?"

"Er, aye," Peter said, sounding as though his attention was beginning to move on to more important things. "Send Whinim and Nrinna—they are steadfast mares, and have good heads on their necks. They will not need much coaching, and they will speak plainly to our Archenlandian allies."

Enna nodded and turned around, intending to run to the stables and find Whinim and Nrinna, but Peter caught her forearm in his gauntleted hand. "Enna..." He paused a moment. "Please stay in as much safety as you can. I…I don't want you getting wounding or being recognized. You either, Aramir."

"We will, Peter," she assured him, and he nodded briefly before releasing her to the stables. Aramir followed close at her heels as she went, his sword jangling at his hip.

"Where is Whinim and Nrinna?" he asked without preamble when they opened the creaky door.

"Why, I'm Nrinna," said a small dapple grey, looking curiously over her stall door. "Who asks?"

"I'm Whinim," said her neighbor, a sleek-coated bay mare.

"The high king needs your assistance," said Enna, going to the doors and opening them.

"Whatever for?" Nrinna asked in bewilderment.

Aramir came up behind Enna, a saddle in his arms, and said, "He has commanded that you, in order to divert the attacking Galmanians and possibly save Narnian lives, be suited and laden as though for riders, and make all haste to Archenland at once, taking the guise of dumb beasts."

"Why?" Whinim asked blankly.

"Because the Galmanians might be searching for myself and Enna," Aramir said matter-of-factly. "If they pursue what seems to be the tracks of our escape, and find only two rider-less horses, they will assume that we perished in the snow and leave."

"So…we must act as dumb horses?" Nrinna said in shock.

"Yes, until you reach Archenland. Then you must somehow gain an audience with the king. You must tell him that Narnia is under attack, and to guard their eastern borders and send reinforcements."

The two horses looked at each other. "What say you to this proposal, Nrinna?" Whinim asked.

"I think it is high time we serve Their Majesties and Narnia," Nrinna replied. "We agree."

"Ohhh, a grand adventure," Whinim said, sounding extremely excited as Aramir put a saddle on her back, and then on her companion's. "I have always wanted to take part in a daring escapade!"

"Remember, leave hoofprints where it is obvious," Enna said, filling saddlebags with the food that Aramir had slipped into his knapsack. "And, if you can, pass a deep gorge or river, so it seems as though we could have fallen to our deaths or drowned."

"Right," said Nrinna. "So…go with all haste to Archenland?"

"Aye."

"And disguise ourselves as dumb beasts?"

"Aye."

"And seek an audience with the king, warning him of the Galmanian danger and requesting assistance?"

"Aye."

"All right, then. Shall we go, Whinim?"

"Aye!"

Aramir smiled in relief at Enna, who smiled back with a deep breath. What would she do now that she had volunteered herself to help? _Why…go down and defend the harbor, of course!_ "Aramir," she said, leaving the stables. "Come along. We are going to help the Narnians."

He jogged to catch up with her purposeful strides. "Do you have another brilliant plan, my lady?"

"Well, I think we ought to protect the structures in the bay first before we attempt to drive off the Galmanians," Enna replied. "All the wood should be drenched in seawater so it can't catch fire."

Aramir didn't answer as they crossed the drawbridge, but when she glanced at him, he was nodding his head in agreement.

Together they hurried down the snowy path towards the red-lit harbor, the previous winter silence broken by the sounds of launching apparatuses from the Galmanian ships and the answering roar of flame.

It was a scene of chaos that met their eyes upon their arrival at the docks. Kings Edmund and Peter were already there on horseback, galloping up and down the long wharf as they directed their subjects and called out warnings for incoming missiles. A nearby faun, mistaking Enna and Aramir for part of the bucket line, shoved a water-filled pail into Enna's hands. She immediately dumped it on the wooden walk beneath her feet.

Many nearby workers looked at her as though she was crazy. "What do you think you're doing, girl?" shouted a Dwarf. "The fire is thataway!"

"We must keep what is unlit as wet as possible," she called back over the roar of the nearby flames. "Otherwise, they'll catch fire too!"

"Listen to the girl!" came a loud voice. King Edmund, his coal black hair ruffling in the hot wind from the flames, rode his horse near to them, the beast obviously trying to disguise its fear of the fire. "She speaks wisely! Brikagrin, gather a fourth of these good folk and set them to preemptive duty."

"Yes, sire," said the Dwarf grumpily, and turned to the laborers. "All righ', all yeh over here—yeh heard the king! Start dumpin' water on the dry stuff! Make sure to save the moored boats, above all!"

Enna smiled to herself as she and Aramir set about doing so, even as burning arrows landed nearby and more fires sprang up on the untreated areas. She had won something, at least a miniscule inch, against her uncle and his wrathful warships.

It was a long fight, at least an hour or two, but eventually, the fires burning in the old buildings finally sputtered out, and there was no angry red lights burning on the dock, but for those in the lamps. The Narnians were tired and sooty, their eyes bloodshot from smoke and their hands blistered, but they had succeeded in saving their precious harbor.

"Sire, I believe the Galmanians have dried up their arsenal, at least for the present," said a tattered faun, its fur burnt away in charred patches.

Peter nodded, looking at the ships. "They are too far for us to assault. Do you think they know that?"

Enna watched them, too. She had always loved sea travel, felt at home on bobbing ships, but these crafts looked positively evil. A bright light was scrambling up the midmast on the largest one as a crewmember scurried up to the crow's nest. A long few moments passed, and then the Galmanian flag behind the flickering torch fluttered and was pulled away, replaced by a bright blue pennant, snapping in the brisk night breeze. "Look!" she cried, her voice echoing strangely against the water. "It's the blue flag—they've called a truce!"

A small boat splashed into the water at the frigate's side, and it began slowly moving towards the shore, an identical blue flag fluttering at its bow. The Narnians on land, though they numbered nearly three hundred, tensed visibly, and some drew their weapons.

"The people of Galma demand a truce!" came a voice from the approaching rowboat. "Permission to dock?"

"Permission granted," Peter called back. To the Narnians, he said in a low voice, "Make ready, in case they go back on their word."

Enna stepped back into the shadows of an upturned fishing vessel, dragging Aramir along with her.

The boat bumped against the dock, and three tall figures, plainly Galmanian by their sea-weathered faces and familiar dress, stepped ashore, bearing the blue flag. "His Lordship Naval General Stalresin, Duke of Anwit, and Honored Knight of the Marinal Order, gives acknowledgement to His Highness Peter, High King of Narnia and Emperor of the Lone Islands."

Peter and a guard of centaurs stepped forward. "I, King Peter, demand to know the reason for this craven attack on Narnian soil."

His tone was even, and Enna could not see his face, but she could hear the underlying righteous fury that tainted his words.

"His Lordship Naval General Duke Stalresin has declared war on the kingdom of Narnia," said the Galmanian.

"For what, pray?"

"For blatant, willful, highly injurious failure to submit to the Maritime Laws, as written and agreed to by none other than Your Highness."

A whisper ran through the observing Narnians, and Peter's shoulders drew back wrathfully. "And how, _pray_, did this most noble kingdom accomplish that?"

The Galmanian tilted his head as if he couldn't understand Peter's chagrin. "For taking a Galmanian merchant captain from his duty and forcing him to appear in a senseless trial, at which you illegally impressed a crew member into witness against him, and henceforth expelled a valuable and honored skipper from a vital port. And, Your Highness, all this was for a known Galmanian fugitive."

Enna closed her eyes. So they _were_ looking for her. This was all her fault—she had caused the destruction of a Narnian port.

"Preposterous," Peter spat. "The captain moored at our docks and came ashore of his own will, demanding the punishment of a stowaway. We complied, as in order with Article III of the Maritime Laws. However, it states in Article IV that foreigners coming to shore must abide by the laws of the land, and Narnians will not tolerate unnecessary cruelty, which the captain's inhumane treatment of his captive, _as well as_ that of the crewmember brought in to testify, clearly defines. We expelled him from our ports, nothing more and nothing less. We were perfectly in line with the Laws!"

"Nevertheless," said the Galmanian. "King Helmin has been injured by your conduct, and thus has sent his trusted general to confront you for his wounds. And what of the fugitive, one Enwynna Stalresin?"

"She is long gone away," said Peter, flatly. "She boarded the next passenger ship to the Lone Islands in early October."

"We have a witness who states he met her here in Narnia in November. What say you to that?"

"Oh, _that_ fugitive!" Peter gave a barking, rather nervous laugh, and Enna winced. "Oh, well, she is long gone, as well. She eloped with one of my manservants earlier this afternoon—we only just found her note. They are bound for Archenland, in the southwest."

Aramir looked briefly at Enna, and she at him.

"Hm," said the Galmanian. "We shall see about that."

"What are your terms, then?"

"His lordship Duke Stalresin requests a night's cessation of hostilities," the Galmanian replied, "and for negotiation and communication to continue upon the morrow."

"Shall I meet with your leader, then, rather then a spokesman?"

"Aye. His lordship Duke Stalresin will, pending your agreement, come ashore at no later than nine o'clock to discuss treaty options."

Peter grunted, obviously displeased with having to craft a treaty with such a cowardly attacker. "Very well, then. Tell your leader that I promise nothing but to meet with him."

The Galmanian bowed. "It shall be as you say, Your Highness." He snapped his fingers, and he and his men clambered back into their small craft and began to row back to the frigates.

Peter waited until the bobbing lantern on the prow of their ship shrank into a pinprick against the inky black sea before turning to Enna and Aramir. He ran his hands once through his hair, took a breath as though to speak, then let it out again in a sigh.

"Peter…" Enna said, stepping forward. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I'll—" She faltered, but knew it had to be done. "I'll…If you think it would be for the best, for Narnia's benefit, then…tomorrow, I will return myself to my uncle, and he will leave you alone."

"Enna, no!"

It was both Peter and Aramir who spoke, and Enna blinked. "Well, why not?"

"I can't let you give yourself up to certain suffering and perhaps even death," Peter exclaimed. "Don't be silly, Enna! Narnia will rise to Galma's challenge, and have no fear—we shall carry the day."

Enna didn't argue.

"Aramir, take the lady back to the castle," he went on. "Get rest, the both of you—I want you at the negotiations. Enna, you needn't be seen, but I wish to consult you on it nonetheless, for you know your uncle's ways better than I or anyone else in Narnia."

"Aye, Peter," she said softly, feeling his goodness more strongly now than ever before.

He touched her chin briefly, then dropped his hand quickly as though he'd forgotten himself momentarily. "Very well. Wash the soot off your face and tend to those blisters on your hand. Aramir, you do the same."

"Aye, sire," said Aramir behind her, and he touched her shoulder. "Come along, Enna," came his voice in her ear. "Buck up. I'll take care of you…"

--

_A/N: So…if a certain someone were to write a sequel for a certain Narnia story concerning a certain high king and a certain Galmanian refugee, would you guys read it? :P I'm trying to sketch out a brief plan for the rest of "Sea Rat", and am strongly considering a sequel. It wouldn't be one of those "twenty years later, these are their kids" types of sequels; rather, I'd leave the end of "Sea Rat" kinda hanging, and continue the next part of the story in the sequel. I'd explain it more, but I don't want to give anything away! ;D I already have it planned out, though—you guys'd love it! (Well, I hope. XD)_

_So tell me what you think, and don't forget to vote for us in Narnia Fanfiction Revolution's Awards!_


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

Enna woke early the next morning, her nerves too taught to allow for much sleep. She could see the tall ships bobbing in the bay outside—was it just her, or were there more today?—and the cold wind whipped snow from the eaves around her window.

Aslan had been right. She had trodden on her hem and fallen ill, just as he had said, _and_ the Sea had indeed brought great terror to her! The implications of this made her head spin, but she forced the thoughts away so she could concentrate on the present. Her old captor waited on one of those mighty warships, perhaps knowing she watched him from the castle, and the mere thought made her clench the doors of her wardrobe until her knuckles turned white.

She momentarily considered wearing the red undergown from the night before, but she imagined Sabsestrin's lecherous eyes following her every move. A drab, dark color would do best for today's duties, a good and solemn color. Her hands itched to brush her waves back into a meek plait, but she had to restrain herself, knowing that it would only serve to ease her uncle's recognition of her—the _last_ thing she wanted or needed.

Thus Enna went about her morning routine, every single act affected in some way by her venomous uncle. She found herself quickly and alarmingly falling back into her old ways, tying her stays firmly so they wouldn't come undone, drawing her sleeves down over the bruiseable flesh of her hands, and wearing several underdresses so as to make herself appear as shapeless as possible.

The knock that sounded at her door made her jump, but she took a deep breath and opened it to find Aramir standing in the hall, dusky circles under his eyes but his clothes neat and clean and Arondight gleaming at his hip.

"You look as though you haven't slept a wink," Enna said, her brow furrowing as she let him in.

He lowered himself to the cushioned seat in her window well, resting his head against the fogged glass with a sigh. "I couldn't stop thinking about…well, everything. How your uncle has come back, and how you…how you came up with that ingenious plan yesterday, sending the horses off like that…and how the Galmanians could just fire upon Narnia like that."

Enna sat next to him, running her fingers through her snarled curls. "Why did you worry? Peter and his siblings are wise and diplomatic, I'm sure they know what to do."

"But the Galmanians have already done one underhanded thing," Aramir countered. "Who's to say they won't again?"

Enna didn't quite know what to say.

"I don't believe that you didn't have trouble sleeping, either," he went on, looking at her. "It took an uncommon courage to stay here, Enna—either that or plain foolishness, but I've not seen much of the latter in you."

"Oh, it's not courage," Enna scoffed. "It's a sense of duty, nothing else. I was honored that you stayed with me."

He slipped his big hand around hers and with his thumb brushed the veil of bandage covering the slight blisters she'd gotten the night before. "Someone's got to watch out for you, apparently."

"I can take care of myself," she retorted, standing up. "That seems to be something you and Peter forget quite a lot."

"Enna…" Aramir sighed and followed her. "You can't be completely self-dependent, you know. Look at Peter—he needs his siblings to rule effectively. _You_ need someone there to—to help you up when you trip, or…dress your wounds." He took her wrist and held her bandaged hand up for her to see. "Your father wasn't able to do that, and your uncle certainly failed in his attempts."

Enna winced involuntarily at the mention of Sabsestrin, pulling her hand free from his grasp. "Please, I'd rather not discuss that."

Aramir didn't press the subject, choosing instead to sit on the chest at the foot of her bed as she slowly ran the horsetail brush through her hair. "How does your hand feel?"

"Oh, fair," she replied. "It scarcely huts anymore. Thank you for wrapping it for me."

"My pleasure."

Enna kept brushing out her long hair, sweeping it over one shoulder to reach the ends. "So…do you think Peter will have us hidden today? He said he wanted us present, but not visible."

"Perhaps," Aramir replied.

"And what of the Nymrunians? They are in the midst of marriage negotiations, and a war is possible."

"I doubt that will deter them. They seem set on having Her Majesty for their Majesty."

"From what I heard, Queen Susan does not look favorably on them. Peter said she was planning to turn their offers down."

"Interesting. How is the ambassador, himself? I saw you met him."

"Oh, he is nice enough, I suppose," Enna answered. "You remember how I consider his politics, though."

"How could I forget?" Aramir smirked.

"'Of all persons to have intellect, a _lady_ would be the last'," Enna said, mimicking the man's rolling accent and elegant pronunciation as she set down the brush and went to the window.

Aramir chuckled.

Enna smiled to herself, unlatching the panes of glass and opening them wide. "What o'clock is Peter to meet with them at?"

A frigid blast of air blew a breath of snow into the room. "No later than nine," Aramir replied, coming to lean on the sill next to her. "Are you at all anxious?"

"Anxious? About meeting my uncle?" Enna scoffed. "Of course not. He does not frighten me anymore. I have proven myself better than his manipulation."

"Do you carry any resemblance between you?"

"No! I mean, I don't believe so." She shuddered at the idea and leaned out the window. "But he still doesn't daunt me like he used to. Do you hear that? _I'm not afraid_!"

Her voice rang out against the nearby stone battlements, throwing the defiant shout back towards them a hundred times before dying away. Aramir put his hands on her shoulders and drew her back into the room, brushing the snow from her sleeves and closing the window with a quiet click. "I think you're more scared than you let on."

"Preposterous," Enna scoffed uncomfortably, knowing he was right. "I…He can do nothing to me."

Aramir touched one of her uncooperative curls, a fondness on his face that made Enna feel oddly secure. "You are the stubbornest lass I know. It's all right to be afraid."

She bit her lip. "All right—I'm scared _witless_. I could hardly sleep last night, knowing that that…that _blackguard_ is at my very doorstep! What will I do, Aramir, every time I think on it my breath gets short and I want to run as fast as I can in the other direction!"

"Keep your head, is what I would suggest," he said calmly. "There's no sense in getting hysterical."

Enna took a deep breath and let it out again. "You're right."

"I think what you have done is the most lionhearted thing I have seen in many years," he went on.

"What, _staying_? That was foolish of me."

"Perhaps, but it was lionhearted nonetheless."

"We'll see."

Aramir chuckled. "You may be more afraid than you let on, Enna, but I think you are also more mettlesome than you say."

Enna shook her head. "I am quite the yellow-belly, as I am sure you will soon find…"

It was well that another knock sounded at the door at this moment, for Aramir had chosen to look maddeningly arch instead of answering Enna right away. Enna wavered between opening the door and giving Aramir a piece of her mind for a moment before deciding that the person at the door might be important, and thereby going to open it.

Peter stood outside, leaning on her doorpost. "It's time," he said simply.

Those two words made Enna's knees go weak, and she tightened her grip on the door briefly. "Yes…all right."

She turned away to get her cloak and Peter stepped into the cozy room, looking a bit out of place in his richly-embroidered jerkin and crown pushed resolutely down over his fair brow.

"What is Aramir doing here, Enna?" he asked after a momentary pause.

Enna turned partway around, combing her hair one last time, and saw the odd look on his face. "Oh—he came to fetch me," she replied, blushing at the realization of how questionable the circumstances must look. "Just a few minutes ago."

Peter nodded briefly and folded his arms across his chest as Enna pinned her cloak at her throat. "I would prefer you to bring your bow," he said.

She looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"I…I want you and Aramir nearby but out of sight," Peter said, a bit uncomfortably. "But there is no guarantee that you will not be seen, or found…I wish that you have protection. You have Arondight, Aramir?"

"As always, sire."

"Do you think we will have need of them?" Enna asked, biting her lip and going to fetch her bow and quiver.

"I pray to Aslan no," Peter replied. He took her quiver from her hands and helped her buckle it against her back. "But, nevertheless…"

Enna chewed her lip nervously, her heart beginning to race.

Peter sighed. "But do not fear, I'm sure it will go by quickly and painlessly. Are you both ready?"

"Aye, sire," Aramir replied.

"Very well, then." Peter nodded and opened the door for Enna and Aramir. "It's a little before nine, but we are prepared to meet the Galmanians."

Enna put her shoulders back, her quiver digging comfortingly into them, and marched from her room, boots scraping the flagstones as she and her two companions went down to the courtyard.

"You and Aramir will sit in one of the boathouses," Peter explained as they began the trek through now-muddy snow to the harbor. "The treaty tent is set up outside it, so you must position yourself near the door so you can hear."

"Aye."

"I may come to consult you, Enna," Peter said, looking down at her. "Are you willing to help?"

"Am I? Of course!"

"Excellent."

The rest of the trip went by in silence, too restless were the three to think of conversation to make. When they neared the harbor, however, Enna spoke up. "Peter, Aramir, how many Galmanian ships were moored here last night?"

"Five," Aramir replied.

Enna furrowed her brow and counted the ones she saw in the bay now. "Well…I see twelve now."

Peter and Aramir shaded their eyes and looked out across the glinting waters. "I believe you are right, Enna," Peter said. "Perhaps reinforcements arrived during the night?"

"By the lion, I hope you manage to make an acceptable peace with them today," Aramir said.

"I do, as well, Aramir."

Enna's heart was pounding in her ears now—there were so many of them. If 200 souls could be engaged on a Galmanian man-o'-war, there must be nearly 2,500 men ready to unleash Sabsestrin's fury on the Narnians! The mere sum was enough to tempt her to run away again.

In a moment, they reached the plank walkway, where dozens of Narnians milled anxiously about. A scarlet tent had already been erected in front of a warship shelter, and its drapings fluttered in the cold breeze. "Nigh on nine o'clock," called out a faun nearby.

"Just in time," Peter said, hurrying towards the boathouse and wrenching an immense door open. "Here is where you'll stay—Lucy? Susan!"

The two queens had obviously been counting on their hiding place going undiscovered—they leapt to their feet, their hair plaited and unadorned, as were their simple, rather dirty-kneed gowns.

"Hello, Peter," Queen Susan said sheepishly, kicking a few comfy pillows out of sight.

This didn't escape Peter, who folded his arms. "What are you two doing down here? I told you to stay in the castle with the Nymrunians and others!"

"Oh, Peter, don't be ridiculous," said Queen Lucy. "Did you really expect me and Susan to sit in that stone box like do-nothings while you and Edmund get to be all kingly? If you did, my kind brother, then you are in for a rude awakening."

Enna resisted the temptation to laugh.

"It's safer for you up there," Peter insisted.

"Well, you have Lady Enna and Lord Aramir down here, don't you?" Lucy challenged. "And we brought pillows and a picnic lunch in case things go long. And they most certainly will."

Peter sighed as the faun called out, "Nine o'clock!"

"Fine. But be silent!"

"Promise," said Susan, beckoning Enna and Aramir into the building. Peter closed the door partway, and the light dimmed drastically.

"Are you anxious, Lady Enna?" Queen Susan whispered, giving her a pillow to sit upon.

"Yes," Enna admitted.

Lucy took her hand and squeezed it, and then they all found a crack in the wall to peer through. Nothing happened at first, just Narnians getting into position and a bell clanging twice to mark the naval time.

Enna fixed her eyes on the foremost ship and waited for the approach of a rowboat.

A half-hour passed silently until the naval bell tolled thrice—it was nine thirty in the morning, and nothing had happened. At the sound, Aramir sighed and got up and opened the door, the two queens looking at each other and Enna. Enna saw him go into the tent, and come out again with Peter and King Edmund, who were angry judging by the way their hands were balled at their sides.

"What do you suppose is going on?" Queen Susan whispered.

"Nothing much," Queen Lucy replied. "Let's go and find out."

The three girls leapt to their feet and hurried from the building, blinking in the blinding sunlight. "Edmund, Peter, what's happening?" Queen Lucy said. "Why haven't the Galmanians come?"

"We don't know, Lucy," Edmund replied. "We're preparing a boat to go to them."

"Oh!" Susan cried. "Do be careful!"

"We will, Susan, don't fret," Peter soothed her.

"I'm going to come along, Peter," Enna said firmly.

He looked at her, his lips in a thin line, but didn't argue. When Edmund called to him from the dock, he nodded to her and Aramir, getting into the wobbly boat by several fauns, three satyrs, four grumpy-looking Dwarfs, and a fox, and holding out a hand. Enna stepped in, her Galmanian legs easily adjusting to the dip of the waves. Aramir climbed in after her, making the boat rock alarmingly.

"I'm going to come, too," Queen Lucy stated, and climbed into the boat before Peter and Edmund could stop her. "I can wield a mean dagger, as you all know."

"Too well," said King Edmund with a grimace as he climbed in behind her.

"If we're gone more than fifteen minutes," Peter said to Queen Susan as she wrung her hands, "Alert Alfgautor. He will know what to do."

"Ooooh, I don't like this, not one bit," Queen Susan said fretfully.

"Ready to shove off, sir?" said the Dwarf at the helm.

Peter waved once to Susan. "Weigh anchor."

"Aye, sir."

Enna settled into her seat as the Dwarf loosed the lashing, and the boat began to drift away from the dock. The Dwarfs nearby took up the oars and propelled the craft quickly through the gently tossing Sea, the sloshing of the water against the wooden sides a strangely comforting sound to Enna, whose rapidly pounding heart threatened to drown out the rush of the ocean waves.

The frigates loomed above their small rowboat far sooner than Enna preferred, the silent figures' riggings creaking loudly as they rocked to and fro. The little keel bumped against the side of the foremost ship as the Dwarfs guided it close, and Peter stood.

"Halloa up there!" he called. His voice echoed against all the bobbing man-o'-wars, but there was no answering shout.

"Sire?" said the satyr on Enna's left.

"I wish to board," Peter said, putting his hands at his hips.

"Peter…" Queen Lucy said disapprovingly.

"If you insist, sire," said the Dwarf across from Enna. He stood on stubby, sturdy legs, a thick knot of rope with a barb on the end dangling from his hand. "I'll go first, then, sire? Scout out the deck?"

"Yes, Farulfir, if you don't mind it."

"Not a'tall. Watch yer heads, now." The red-bearded Dwarf leaned back, the boat tipping dangerously, and began to swing the thick rope in a circle, the hook on the end flashing in the sunlight. "One…ter…three…!" With a grunt, Farulfir released his lasso, and they all watched it sail through the air, lazily almost, with the rope trailing out behind it. It disappeared over the railing, and a moment later they heard a dull thud. Farulfir tugged on the rope (Enna saw now that it was really a rope _ladder_), and it scraped across the deck and then held fast.

"After you, then," Edmund said, sitting back.

Farulfir grunted, and then leapt up onto the ladder, his short little arms and legs taking him up it at a surprising rate of speed. After a moment, he was clambering over the railing and out of sight.

Aramir's big hand closed over Enna's, and Queen Lucy's on her other, and she looked gratefully at them.

A minute passed, and then Farulfir's shaggy red head appeared above them. "There's no one 'ere, sire. The deck's clear."

Peter muttered something under his breath, but pushed his crown down further over his brow and proceeded to climb up the rope.

"Quite undignified, don't you think?" Queen Lucy whispered to King Edmund, her face red with suppressed laughter.

"Yes, quite," snickered Edmund.

"Quiet, you two," Peter shouted down at them.

Enna smiled to herself.

Peter was over the rail in a moment, and called down for someone else to come up. "Oh, I will," Queen Lucy said, and picked up the fox in one arm before easily climbing the rather frayed-looking rope.

Aramir went up next, and beckoned for Enna to follow, which she did shakily. He and Peter both helped her over the rail.

"I suppose we'll just stay here and make sure the boat doesn't float away," said one satyr dolefully, his voice echoing strangely up from the water.

Enna looked about the deck. It was uncannily deserted, the sails hanging limp over the masts, and it looked as though it had been neatly cleaned before night watch—that in itself wasn't unusual for a Galmanian ship, but it was nearly ten o'clock in the morning: there should be sailors and other crewmembers scurrying about the deck.

But there was no one, not even a cabin boy.

"There's no one in the brig, Your Majesties," said one of the Dwarfs that had come up after Enna, closing the door that went down into the bowels of the ship.

"No one?" Peter repeated. "Not a soul?"

"None."

He turned and began conversing with his siblings, and Enna looked around. She had been on a Galmanian warship only thrice in the entirety of her life, but there was a strange feeling of something not being right that she couldn't shake. The deck seemed too…bare, too open. It was nearly fifty feet across—all that space wouldn't be left unused.

"Is something missing from the deck?" she asked Aramir in a low voice.

"Yes."

"Well? What?"

He looked down at her, his face grim. "The longboats."

Enna looked back at the deck, her heart and mind racing. The swift, shallow vessels, four or five to a frigate, could travel leagues upstream in a matter of hours, especially under the skillful hands of Galmanian sailors. "The longboats—oh, Aramir. By Gale himself…oh, Gale. Oh, Gale. _Peter_!"

Peter looked up as she ran across the deck towards him. "What is it, Enna? What's the matter?"

Enna was near absolute panic at this point, and she ran her hands through her thick hair, fighting for composure. "Oh, Peter—Peter, they've gone. The Galmanians have gone."

"Gone? Well, where could they have gone _to_?"

"The longboats. They're missing."

Peter looked at her, wide-eyed. "How many to a ship?"

"Four, five, perhaps six."

His face, and that of his brother, turned instantly grave.

"What?" Queen Lucy asked, her own young face going pale. "What does that mean? Could they not have sailed back to Galma?"

"Why would they have?" Edmund said sharply. "They are looking for one thing from us, and they will do anything, it seems to have it."

"Well, what is it?" Lucy asked impatiently.

"It is our friend Lady Enna," King Edmund replied.

The blood rushed from her head at this veiled resentment, but Peter stepped in front of her, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "This is no time for backbiting, Edmund. The Galmanians have gone up the Great River into Narnia, I am given to conclude, and we must repel them."

"'Ow, sire?" said Farulfir.

"Summon the armies," Peter said, his voice ringing out across the deck and echoing against the limp sails of the surrounding ships. "I want every man-at-arms fully outfitted for battle, ready for mobilization by this afternoon."

"And then what, sire?" said the fox at Queen Lucy's feet.

"We shall pursue them with all haste," Peter answered. "I only hope we head them off before they trespass any further."

Enna closed her eyes briefly. This was _her_ fault…

"Very good, sire."

Peter's hand came down firmly on Enna's shoulder, and she looked up at his determined face. "It is Enna they want…but it is a _war_ they shall get."


	30. Chapter Thirty

_A/N: w00t! Chapter Thirty! Let's have a party, everyone! :D Oh, and don't forget about Narnia Fanfiction Revolution's Awards—voting closes in just under two weeks!_

_In other news, I'm more of a fanfic writer than a reader, as you've probably guessed—but I'm looking to read some good Narnia fics! I'd like them to be in-progress and relatively short, with really good writing and minimal to no spelling/grammar errors. Got any suggestions or think yours is great? Tell meh! :D_

--

"I'm staying with you, Enna."

The bustle of a castle preparing for war nearly drowned out Aramir's quiet words, but Enna heard them nevertheless. Staring up at Aramir's big brown eyes, blazing with an intensity she was not used to seeing in his gentle face, she stammered, "I…I haven't even said anything yet."

"Nevertheless. I'm going to stay by your side, Enna." He reached out to take her hand in his, but then seemed to change his mind. "People need their friends more than ever in times of war, you know."

A Dwarf bearing hunks of rusted steel to the busy forge down below pushed past them on his way to the stairs, and Aramir drew Enna more towards the snow-covered wall, his hand lingering reassuringly on her arm. "I think I know what you want to tell me," he said as she opened her mouth to protest. "It is too dangerous, it would be foolish of me to stay, I could die, there is no reason for me to risk my neck for something trivial…"

"That's all very true," Enna said stubbornly, a bit discomforted nonetheless. It was if he had read her mind…! "You don't need to stay."

"I know I don't."

"Then why are you _going_ to?"

"Because," Aramir said slowly, as if she were a young child in need of clarification, "I am your friend. Friends stand by each other in times of plenty _and_ of need. I would say this is a time of need."

Enna shook her head, the cold winter wind slapping her ears as it blew her hair back from her face. "Aramir, this _is_ foolishness!"

"Have you never had a friend before?" he asked. She could tell he was jesting, but the words stung nonetheless. "I want to help you, Enna, I really do. Besides…what you said earlier—needing to repay Narnia and Aslan for all they have done for us—where is that now? I want to repay Narnia—I want to protect it, but now all you can say is 'no, this is foolish.'"

She huffed a sigh and turned away to gaze out at the snowy valleys and hills that stretched westward from the castle. "But…the reason that Narnia needs protecting is because of me! Won't the strife end if I simply leave?"

"'Leave'?" Aramir gaped at her. "You can't possibly be thinking of leaving _now_!"

"It seems the most prudent thing to do, under the circumstances."

Aramir took her by the arms and shook her briskly. "Enna Stalresin! What on Earth is wrong with your head? Narnia needs you, and _you_ need _Narnia_—by the Lion, by his mane, and by Jove, but you're being dense!"

Enna gawked and blinked a few times.

"Yes," Aramir went on. "You're being dense. You're generally clever and brave, but right now you're just being…dense. Don't you think that, of all the Narnians, _you_ are the most qualified to deal with your uncle?"

Despite the fact that Enna knew very well that he was right, her chin went up defiantly. "I'm not being dense! And just to prove you wrong, I'm going to tell you that I'm going to stay in Narnia." She folded her arms across her chest.

He smirked. "Will you be true to your word? Only then will I be convinced."

"Yes, I'll be true to my word," Enna scoffed. "What do you take me for—a Galmanian?"

"Ah, Enna, always the witty one."

This voice was not Aramir's; rather, it came from Peter, who had approached from behind while Enna was busy being obstinate. He was now fully outfitted in the same battle regalia that Enna had seen in her _A Detailed History of and Guide to the Usage of Narnian Weaponry_ book: a crimson tabard over a coat of mail, and gold-plated pauldrons that rattled with each movement. He looked very noble and especially magnificent, but Enna could only think of the despair and barbarity of the whole ordeal to come—his gleaming sword would soon be stained with blood, his shield battered and the rampant lion scarred, and his face mournful and sweat-stained. The glory of war dimmed in Enna's mind with this sobering image.

"Is she not, sire?" Aramir said dryly, bowing.

Peter smiled sadly. "Aye. My orders of business pale in comparison to her brilliant badinage."

"Orders of business?" Enna repeated, puzzled. "What, have you come to instruct us?"

"In a way," Peter replied. "I am in a bit of a rush, as can be imagined, so I will try to explain quickly—you two should leave. I have already instructed the Nymrunians to return home, for their own safety, and I wish for you to do so, as well."

Enna blinked. "But, Peter—!"

"Please, Enna, do not argue," he replied, holding up a gauntleted hand. "It is best for you to get out of harm's way. There is nothing that will keep the Galmanians fighting longest than knowing that their prize is with the enemy army."

At this, he turned and began to go down the steps, a purposeful stomp to his stride.

Enna and Aramir looked briefly at each other before following the high king. "Peter, we don't want to leave Narnia," Enna called after him as he worked his way through the crowd of busy warriors. "We want to defend her—_I_ want to make amends for what _I've_ done! We owe a great debt to you and your people. Will you not allow us to pay it?"

The Nymrunians, their arms full of trunks and various other personal accoutrements, paused as Enna pushed past them.

"I will have none of this," Peter shouted back. "My word is final!"

"I won't go," Enna replied stubbornly. "And neither will Aramir!"

"What is this all about, my lady?" said Lord Lorendo, approaching her with a curious look on his bearded face.

"His Majesty Peter insists that we leave Narnia at her moment of need," Enna replied crossly as Aramir went off to chase the escaping king.

"I must admit," Lorendo sighed, "it is vexing. Nymru prides herself on her prowess in war. But His Majesty does wish to keep his nobles safe."

Enna considered telling the ambassador that she was no duchess, but then disregarded the idea. "Well, I refuse to leave. I am not a great warrior, but I can help in other ways."

"Here, here," said Lorendo. "Your stalwartness puts me to shame."

"Why doesn't Your Excellency insist on staying then, too?" Enna said, a light going on in her head. "His Majesty would not forcibly eject forty-odd persons from his kingdom, would he? And I'm sure you and your men would be of great assistance to Their Highnesses, both in number of men-at-arms and military strategists."

Lorendo's mouth twisted in a mischievous smile. "My lady makes a very excellent point."

"You will stay, then?"

Lorendo bowed low. "I will stay as long as this beautiful country needs my sword, my lady."

Enna found herself smiling. "Thank you, my lord."

At this moment, the crowd of milling Narnians parted a bit to let their high king, his face red with frustration, through, Aramir at his heel. "What is this nonsense Aramir speaks of, Enna?" he asked straight off.

Enna looked in confusion at Aramir. What had he _said_? "I refuse to leave, Peter," she repeated. "I'm going to stay here and help you and your people."

"As will I, my lord," said Lorendo, stepping forward to stand abreast with Enna. "I offer you my sword, Your Majesty, and if you will not take it, I subsequently will offer my military knowledge. I have been a general for His Majesty King Alfarrin, the father of our Exalted Leader King Gadalfarrin."

"I want you all home, in safety," Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. "There is nothing that will keep the Galmanians fighting longest than knowing that their prize is with the enemy army."

Enna folded her hands against her mouth, speaking so softly that he had to lean closer to catch her words, words. "Peter…you know my circumstances. Narnia…_Narnia_ is my home now. Why do you think I have not left before today?"

He looked at her with commiserative blue eyes, and she saw hesitancy and compassion battling together behind his fair brow, slightly wrinkled with the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. She bit her lip.

Peter continued to watch at her for a few minutes, his eyes flickering over his face, before he sighed and looked away. "Very well, then. I see that I have no choice than to allow you to do what you wish. If it truly be your desires, my lords and lady, then I will allow you to accompany the army farther into Narnia."

"We wish to fight the Galmanians, too," put in a thin-bearded Nymrunian, his voice young and excited. "Will Your Majesty grant us the privilege?"

Peter hesitated again. "It is a long-standing Narnian law that…only those warriors that hold Narnian citizenship are allowed to raise weapons in the army."

"Then make us citizens, for heaven's sake, Peter," Enna exclaimed. The thought of _truly_ being a Narnian made her a bit dizzy, but the weakness was accompanied by a strange giddiness. Just one step farther from her uncle!

"But—"

"If our nationality is the only obstacle," said Lorendo, "then do away with it and make us Narnians. I would proudly bear the rampant lion of this noble kingdom on my shield!"

"This is ridiculous," Peter scoffed. "You are ambassadors. I cannot take away your Nymrunian citizenship!"

"If we should ever desire to return to Nymru and live there," Lorendo countered, "then you may take our Narnianity away from us. But until then, sire…!"

Peter bit his lip fiercely and his nostrils flared, but he let out a rough sigh. "So be it. But you must first dispose of every foreign object on your persons and replace it with a Narnian equivalent."

"It will be done as you say, Your Majesty," said Lorendo, and he and his entourage bowed themselves away.

"What about us, Peter?" Enna ventured. "Me and Aramir? We have long lived just as Narnians do. What can we change?"

Peter looked at them, his lips a thin line. "Your names."

Enna pulled in her chin at the thought of being known by a title that was not hers. "Peter, I…everyone knows me by Enna."

"I meant your surnames," Peter said. "The Nymrunians' names hold no consequence or negativity to them…but you and Aramir…I do not doubt that you will decide to stay in Narnia for longer than the Nymrunians."

Enna considered this. She hated the fact that she and Sabsestrin shared such a physical thing as a name, and whenever she was referred to as a Stalresin, it pained her as though it were the harshest epithet.

"I will gladly do so, sire," said Aramir. "It is with a light heart that I discard 'Minodaurus,' and with it all relation to the brother I am so ashamed of."

"I…" Enna faltered. Her last name was also the last tie she held with her beloved father and mother…but the consequences of keeping such a shallow thing far outweighed the benefits. "I also agree. Though…I know no Narnian names to replace mine with."

Peter put a hand on her shoulder, and then the other on Aramir's. "Then I shall name you both." He paused in thought. "Enna, you have told me that 'Stalresin' means 'strong spirit' in the ancient tongue. Therefore, I will give you a Narnian name that pays homage to the truth in your name. You shall be henceforth known as Enwynna Aldenthew—'strongest of heart'."

Enna mulled over the name in her head. It wasn't so terrible, Aldenthew, and it did sound very Narnian. _Enna Aldenthew._ _Yes, I can claim that as my own…_

"Aramir," Peter continued, "you shall be known as Aramir Ealion: 'wisest friend'."

Aramir's shoulders went back and he straightened proudly.

Peter took a deep breath. "I, High King Peter, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, hereby pronounce you, Enwynna Aldenthew and Aramir Ealion, citizens of the most blessed kingdom of Narnia, in the name of the Lion. You shall take on all the rights and freedoms that are afforded to such citizens; you shall also swear fealty to her good and just rulers and abide by her laws. May it be thus now, henceforth, and forever more."

He removed his hands from their shoulders, smiling almost despite himself. "Welcome home, my friends."


	31. Chapter Thirty One

_A/N: Sorry this took so long, y'all! We hates school, Preciousssss…;D_

_Anyway, don't forget to vote in Narnia Fanfiction Revolution's Awards! (Yes, I'm going to remind you every time I update until it's over! XD) _

_One last thing—if you want to see Sea Rat-inspired and –related artwork, there're links near the top of our profile page. Enjoy!_

--

Enna had never realized just how beautiful her new home was. Yes, she had admired it from the high stone walls of the castle and roamed the nearby heaths, but never had she been so close to the raw and untamed magnificence of the Narnian rivers and their lush floodbanks, silver-skinned fish flashing under the ice flows that still remained on the waters' surface. Naiads, their arms bare, sat and dangled their pale feet in the swiftly flowing water, waving to the passing army as it traveled along the twisted path of the Great River, deeper and higher into Narnia.

For all the great multitudes of persons trekking through the Narnian woods, bare with winter, and over its frozen plains, they seemed to leave hardly a trace of their presence behind. Enna had initially been concerned about the journey through the thick woods, but one blast from Peter's battle-horn, and the trees _moved_! Bowing, and almost with human-like faces, the ancient old oaks and birches and maples and evergreens bowed at the passing of their high king and his people, and once the last Dwarf had made it safely over the rough path, the trees shook their leaves and moved back into position.

"You'll catch a mouthful of flies if you're not careful, Lady Enna," King Edmund told her laconically at one point.

She shut her jaw immediately and focused on not tripping over any rocks or roots.

Thus, the days wore on. Gradually, Enna's leisure-softened muscles grew tougher, and she did not ache from head to toe as she had at the beginning of the long trek deeper into the country. She had always considered herself a seaman, born on the shores of the Great Sea and raised in the soft, white Galmanian sands, but she found herself beginning to forget the sea, turning instead to the wild beauty of the untamed Narnian meadows and its heathered hills, the river a thin silver ribbon beyond, stretching westward. It did not look much different from Ettinsmoor in the far north or Archenland more southerly, she was told, but it suited her all the same…

But, content as Enna was to wander day after day over the land, others were not so pleased. A week and a half went without any sight of the Galmanian longboats, and, as the vocal dubiety began to grow louder, she, too, began to doubt her own judgment in insisting that her countrymen had taken to the river.

"I'm quite sure of it," she once heard Peter insist when a mail-clad centaur dared to question him. "Galmanians are expert boatmen, and will be hours, if not _days_, ahead of us, and gaining, even against the current. Their boats are shallow and sleek, and the river navigable. We will have to pursue them to Beruna, if it comes to that."

It sounded rather like Peter was trying to convince himself as well as his people. Uncertainty would have kept Enna awake at night, if she were not so completely and utterly exhausted. (Her sleep was one that comes from a good twelve hours of honest, self-sacrificing work.) As it were, Queen Lucy had insisted on sharing her royal tent with her—"After all, Lady Enna, we are the only women in camp. Did you think I would make you sleep out in the frost when you have no fur to keep you warm?"—which discomforted Enna greatly, so afraid she was of displeasing the queen. But the young girl was surprisingly resilient, and appeared to be greatly relishing the adventure. In fact, she seemed rather determined on having Enna as a confidante, as Enna found one early February morning:

"Enna, I am quite resolved to call you my friend."

Enna looked over at the girl, astonished. "Why—why, Your Majesty—"

"Don't 'your majesty' me," Queen Lucy replied crossly. "You don't call Peter 'your majesty'—and he's the high king! _And_ he's older than you! I'm quite sure I'm younger than you are—why do you insist on ignoring my real name?"

"It's not proper, Your Majesty," Enna said, looking down at her dirtied hem.

"Oh, properness be dashed! We're on a _war campaign_! There is no greater equalizer of men than sloughing about in spring mud with rations on your back and weapons over your shoulder."

Enna looked over at the young queen—she actually looked gleeful about it all! "I understand, Your Majesty, but it is not my place."

Queen Lucy stopped rather suddenly, and the centaur that was bearing a scarlet standard nearby barely avoided crashing into her. "Not your _place_? Enna, my friend, if we are trying to be reasonable here, my place is on a horse or—or back at Cair Paravel, and yours isn't in Narnia at all! Not here, and certainly not in the midst of an army, marching like a common footsoldier. Peter, tell our friend Lady Enna that I'm right."

Her voice rang out over the warriors ahead of them, and Enna saw Peter, far in the vanguard, turn around in his saddle, his armor glinting in the sunlight. "Right about what, Lucy?"

Queen Lucy grabbed Enna's hand and led her tripping through the crowd of soldiers, squeezing between Dwarfs and coming frightfully close to the menacing-looking giant cats, all the way to the very head of the column, where Peter, King Edmund, the Nymrunians, and Aramir were all astride fine warhorses, with whom they were animatedly discussing battle strategies.

"Peter," Queen Lucy panted when there came a break in the conversation. "Peter, do tell our wonderful but much too well-mannered Lady Enna that I do wish her to treat me as an equal, not as some stodgy old woman on a silly throne."

All the men, who had long since been convinced by the indefatigable queen to stop calling her 'Majesty', blinked down at Enna, who in turn felt her chin rise with defiance. "It is not my place."

Queen Lucy stomped her foot, and Enna was rather amazed at her ability to stomp and walk at the same time. "Do you see what I mean, Peter? Edmund?"

"I say, Lady Enna ought to call you by your first name, Lucy," Peter said. "You are a monarch, and what you will should be her command—but that is a poor basis for government, I have found. Therefore, I believe it fitting that Enna, a Narnian citizen, should not be forced to refer to her queen in any way that she does not deem apposite."

Enna smiled with gratitude, and Queen Lucy stuck her tongue out good-naturedly. "Very well. But I shall convince you yet!"

Peter and Aramir chuckled knowingly. "You will be hard-pressed to inveigle Enna into _anything_," Aramir said, winking down at her.

"I shall try nevertheless," said Queen Lucy.

"There is something to be said for determination," Peter laughed. "I have often thought that my royal sister has a certain look to her…a habitually set expression on her young face, as though she has determined to drive her head through a brick wall and is about to do it."

The Nymrunians laughed heartily, and even Enna giggled—Peter's observation was dead-on. He grinned down at her knowingly, and she nodded in response, hiding her smile behind her hand.

"Your Majesties!"

Their laughter was cut short by the arrival of a glossy-backed raven, shaking feathers loose from its wings as it fluttered about in agitation above their heads.

"What is it, good Sablequill?" King Edmund asked, and held out his arm for the winded bird to settle down on.

"_Wraaawk_! Ships, good sirs and mada-a-a-ams!" Sablequill croaked. "Up ahead, just 'round the riverbend and over the next ri-i-ise."

"Ships?" said Peter, instantly straight in the saddle. "What kind of ships?"

"Longboats, si-i-ire," replied the raven, fluttering its wings as a brisk breeze threatened to knock it off its perch. "A great number of them, too! They are all drawn up on the ba-a-a-anks of the river, some wrecked for firewood, I presume."

"Are they Galmanian?"

Sablequill squawked. "Pardon me, sire, but how should I know? I'm a Na-a-a-a-rnian raven, not a Galma-a-anian raven!"

"I shall look upon these ships with my own eyes before I make any decision," Peter said firmly. "Stormglen, kindly summon the warriors to a halt. I wish to go ahead of them—allow them all to have a morsel to eat."

"Aye, sire," said the dappled centaur, and blew his horn several long blasts. "The high king desires for the army to break for luncheon!"

There was a brief huzzah of appreciation, and the warriors broke ranks, the clatter of weapons being set aside almost deafening.

"Enna, I desire you to come along," Peter told her, drawing his horse's reins up in his gauntleted hands.

"Peter! If Enna goes along, you must let me go with you, too," Lucy protested.

"Very well," he sighed. "Mount up with Edmund. Aramir, will you be so kind as to share your mount with Enna? It is a dumb beast, and will not mind the extra weight as much as Bronni would."

"You know me well, sire," said Peter's horse with a dry snort.

Aramir led his horse over to where Enna stood and held out a hand, swinging his foot free from the stirrup so she could get up. With a great deal of struggle and a few unhappy whinnies from the poor beast, Enna managed to scramble up and perch precariously on the back of Aramir's saddle, clinging to him for dear life. It was one thing to sit a horse—it was another thing entirely to have one's legs hanging free and nothing but the rather unskilled rider in front of one to hold on to!

"Are you ready?" Peter asked her as he guided Bronni up beside the two and nudged Enna's leg into a less cumbersome position.

"I believe so," she replied, Aramir's lion-emblazoned jerkin surprisingly soft against her hands. Was it velvet? Yes, it was! Curious.

The horse lurched into motion down the shallow hill, and the jangle of Peter, King Edmund, and Aramir's armor almost drowned out the steady clomp of the horses' hooves on the cold ground. It was still February, but Enna could smell the gradual thawing of the soil underfoot as spring approached…

The sound of the river grew louder and louder as the horses crested the last small swell. It was wider here than Enna had ever seen a river be—it looked nearly two warships' length across! And indeed, sitting on the bank in an uncannily empty way were dozens of sleek longboats, some hacked apart and resting on their sides, others disrupting the flow of the water, and still others creaking eerily as they rocked to and fro in the rushing current.

"They look Galmanian to me," Enna said, her voice sounding loud in the stillness.

Aramir glanced over his shoulder at her as Peter nodded and urged Bronni down the slight hillside; King Edmund and Aramir following dutifully. When the horses' hooves scraped the rocky bank, Peter dismounted, his chain mail clanging loudly, and approached one of the abandoned ships, his hand on Rhindon's hilt. Enna swung down from Aramir's horse to follow, and one touch of the glossy wood told her—"Aye, Peter. This is Galmanian handiwork if I ever saw it."

Peter kicked at the cold, charred remains of a campfire. "They have been here and gone, at least a day heretofore."

King Edmund sighed. "They must have known Beruna is nearby."

"I hope they have not ravaged the town," Queen Lucy said fretfully from behind him, peering over his shoulder.

"We would have heard about it, Lu, have no fear," King Edmund reassured her.

"Nevertheless," said Peter, turning quickly and marching back to Bronni, "I feel a great need to catch up with the army. I did not like the idea of their boats sailing down my river, but I dislike even more the idea of their people intruding on _mine._ We shall go back to the army, and make for Beruna with all haste. There is no longer any need to follow the river—we will break away from it today, and cut down across the plains through the Lithil Downs pass. You know of what I speak, Edmund…?"

"Aye, Peter," King Edmund replied. "But we must find a ford at which to cross the river before we can reach the Pass."

Peter swung up on Bronni, and Enna scurried back to Aramir. "Aye. Of that I am well aware. I believe an opportunity awaits just beyond Owlwood—a few damp feet is but small price to pay for the safety of our homes."

"Most excellent," said King Edmund. "We must stay the Galmanians before they reach the Fords of Beruna! If Beruna falls, the Great River and all its tributaries are lost. If those waterways are lost…"

Enna knew this only too well, and she shook her head grimly. "Then Narnia is lost."


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

_A/N: Hi, all! Thank Goodness It's Friday, eh? :D Anyway, hope you enjoy this new chapter, and don't forget to vote for us in Narnia Fanfiction Revolution's Awards! The link is on the top of our profile page!_

--

The Narnian army, now under the direct and uncompromising command of High King Peter alone, abandoned all impressions of skylarking and turned battle-ready. The songs that had lilted from the fauns' flutes as the host moved along had since been silenced by their players, the sturdy creatures trading their instruments for little glinting daggers, and the sound of thousands of differently-shod feet filled the void; the scarlet standards that once danced above the heads of the merry creatures now swayed resolutely in time with the beat of the march.

Peter had spurred his people zealously and they were responding in kind.

The vast host crossed the Great River on the outskirts of a large forest, the icy water rushing around their legs, flooding their boots, and threatening to carry several of the smallest Dwarfs away. Queen Lucy had even slipped off of her brother's horse and fallen into the river with a tremendous splash, scaring a few big cats. The army was halted for a good half hour while Peter and King Edmund, both white with fear, splashed about searching desperately for her while she giggled at them from behind a rock on the opposite bank. (She was henceforth obliged to continue the march on foot as punishment for her misbehavior.)

The moon was high in the night sky before Peter reluctantly halted the army and set up camp on a low plain at the base of a chain of hills. Enna was nearly asleep with exhaustion at this point, as was Queen Lucy and many of the other footsoldiers: her feet ached and her legs throbbed with the pain of walking for an hour or so, then clambering up on someone's horse to rest for a few minutes, and then climbing down to walk again. At sunset, Lord Lorendo had, upon seeing that Aramir was dangerously near falling off himself, graciously allowed Enna to remain on his mount, and she was secretly very glad of this—the older man's fit but burly body provided much more of a secure place for her to cling to than Aramir's lanky, ill-seated frame.

When she felt Lorendo's horse come to a jangling stop, Enna stirred herself with difficulty and saw Aramir nearby do the same. "Are you sure you wish to stop now, Peter?" she asked.

She heard him chuckle. "Yes, Enna, I am very sure. The fatigue in your voice makes me wish I had done so earlier."

"I'm not fatigued," Enna retorted

"I beg to differ."

"Yes, sire."

"Here, Lorendo, let me offer assistance..."

Enna felt a worn leather glove curl around her wrist, and she looked down at Peter, who was still flushed with energy. "I can get down on my own."

"I know you can," Peter replied. "But I don't think Lord Lorendo would come out the better for your attempt; do you? It'll be much easier if you let me help. Come along."

Reluctantly, she relinquished her grip on Lorendo's waist and slipped down into Peter's waiting arms, a cold metal spaulder scraping against her cheek as he caught her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry—" he stammered when she hissed in pain.

"No, it's no trouble…"

"By the lion's mane, you're _bleeding_." Peter sounded extremely frustrated as he dug about in his saddlebags for a handkerchief.

Enna touched her cheek and it stung slightly, but her fingers came away with only a drop of red blood on their tips. "Peter, I'm not hurt…Lord Lorendo, I promise you, I'm quite all right, go and water your horse."

As Lorendo dismounted and led his horse away, Peter pulled off his gauntlets and braced Enna's chin in his warm, ungloved hand, dabbing at the superficial wound with the bit of cloth nevertheless. "I am so very sorry, I should have thought first—!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Enna scoffed, pushing his hands away. "I'm absolutely fine."

His lips thinned, but he nodded and stepped away.

"Peter, would you do your own flesh and blood a favor and help Lucy down?" King Edmund asked.

"All right, then, all right." Peter turned away and went to help the young girl.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, Aramir, I'm _not hurt._"

"I saw what happened."

"Really—I'm not!"

"Fine, then. It's just…you seem to have an unfortunate penchant for misadventure."

Enna looked over at him, beginning to unpin her dirty cloak. His dark eyes were duskily underscored and his freckled face wan with exhaustion under the mud that was splattered up his cheeks, bearing a sad resemblance to his dirt-brown jerkin. "And you have an unfortunate penchant for showing your weariness."

He snorted. "You hardly look better yourself, my lady."

"At least you got to ride all day."

"King Peter offered you a mount."

"I _do_ wish I had accepted…"

Aramir sighed and slowly rubbed the back of his obviously aching neck. "Tomorrow you must ride. You'll wear out your boots and yourself if you don't rest your feet—you'll share my horse."

"But…" Enna bit her lip. "Riding on the back of a saddle is hardly less unpleasant than walking."

"Then you shall sit in front. It's simple, Enna, really."

Enna shifted her weight to another foot and glared down at her icy hem as it skimmed the rimy grass. If she had been wearing trousers, this wouldn't be an issue! "I'll see how I feel on the morrow."

"Trust me—you'll accept my offer."

Skeptically, Enna shrugged as a badger waddled up to her, its white stripe partially hidden by a specially-made shirt of mail. "My lady," he grunted, "I have been instructed to inform you that your tent has been erected."

"Thank you, sir badger," Enna replied. Turning back to Aramir, she let her mouth twitch in a slight smile. "I'll see you tomorrow morn, then."

"Aye. Goodnight."

Enna said goodnight to Lord Lorendo and Peter before venturing into the teeming camp, searching out the scarlet and green tent with the golden pennant flying outside it. Queen Lucy was already inside, her honey-brown hair loose and streaming down her shoulders as she shiveringly wrapped a thick blanket around herself. She looked younger than her seventeen years at that moment, with her round face pale with weariness and her slender form bundled up under the covers.

"I am glad you're in here now, Enna," she said lightly, nibbling on a bit of toast. "It is awfully dark in here, even with the lantern."

Enna nodded and smiled slightly, quickly exchanging her heavily dirtied frock for a thick wool nightdress. "Do you miss the castle, Your Majesty?"

"The only reason I will answer you is that I'm too tired to force you to call me Lucy," Queen Lucy retorted, putting a plate of warm toast and honey on Enna's cot. "But no, I do not miss Cair Paravel. Oh yes, I miss the warmth and the food and the safety, but I much rather prefer adventure. I was getting quite bored, sitting in that stone box day after day!"

Enna wrapped herself up in her blanket before beginning to comb out her windswept hair. "Your brothers do not seem keen on having you with us."

"They do not like the idea of women in battle," the queen replied. "But I am gradually winning them over…Peter thinks highly of you, Enna, and I think that is the only reason he allowed you to come along. As for me, I have free rein to pester him to his wits' end if he forces me to stay!"

Enna laughed briefly. "Do they really dislike having females with the army?"

"Yes," Queen Lucy said. "They worry much about my safety, and Susan frets aloud with them whenever she hears of the warrior princesses in faraway lands…I suppose they think we're all weaklings like those silly Calormene Tarkheenas. I beg to differ! Well, Susan perhaps does not like battle, but even _she_ is braver than they. And you and I—we are of the strong breed! We have the blood of the ancient Eve herself running in our veins…we are stalwart and tenacious, and though we may not be able to lift a sword as heavy as Peter's, we may still lift swords. Don't you agree?"

"Wholeheartedly," Enna replied truthfully. "You would have appreciated my father, Vatorian Sabsestrin. He had intended for me to attend school and go on merchant trips with him, learning the ways of the sea and of the world."

"And that was before he died?" the queen said gently, putting a hand on Enna's shoulder. "Before your uncle…before he took your father's place?"

"Aye." Enna put away her comb and began to nibble on her toast. "I had to learn all that on my own."

"I have noticed your penchant for reading."

"I do love to learn, aye."

"And then, you know how to sail?"

"A bit," Enna said. "I was not outright taught, but I observed and grew up around ships and sailors."

"Of course, of course."

"I thought at first, coming here to Narnia, that my home was on the water, perpetually at sea." Enna looked at her hands. "But now I have come to think that perhaps I might be very happy here in Narnia…I have never seen forests so thick nor plains so vast!"

"I should think not!" Queen Lucy laughed. "Galma is very sandy and sunny…I hope someday you will see the mountains, Enna—they are a sight to remember all one's life!"

"I do hope so, as well!" Enna wondered what mountains might look like—she had been told that they were tall and rocky…like sea cliffs? Or different?

"Well, once you and Peter are wed," Queen Lucy said, putting away her plate, "perhaps he will take you to the southern mountains as a wedding journey."

Enna felt her face grow hot at the queen's words, and her heart pounded in her temples. "Um…Your Majesty…I'm sorry, but Peter and I…we are no longer…"

Queen Lucy looked at her with wide eyes. "No longer plighted?"

Enna shook her head, biting her lip fiercely. "No. I…we ceased weeks ago…"

The queen covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh...! I had no idea…oh, Enna, I'm so sorry…you must be mortified! Forget I mentioned anything of the sort. I just assumed that…"

"It's quite all right," Enna said.

"How embarrassing of me!" Queen Lucy shook her head. "It is a very good thing indeed that we did not officially tell the court—or the Nymrunians! But I do feel honored that you would tell me, Enna, really. I understand why you and Peter would have wished to keep this quiet. You both obviously think very well of each other, but I do see how you two could have your differences…Oh, I'm making you very uncomfortable, aren't I? I shall move on to another subject. What do you think of Lord Lorendo? I like him very much, indeed. He is a very gentlemanly gentleman."

Relieved for the change of topic, Enna said, "I do enjoy him. I do not agree with his people's politics and educational ethics, perhaps, but he as an individual is very genial."

"He is very intelligent, as well. If he were suiting me for his king, I would accept just because of his wisdom!"

Enna hid a smile. "Perhaps that is why Peter has disallowed you to accept any suitors just yet."

Queen Lucy stuck her lower lip out and lay down on her cot, pulling the thick blankets up over her shoulder. "Peter is much too protective of me. I hope, if there is a battle, that I will be allowed to participate."

"I shouldn't wish to kill with a sword, I think," Enna said thoughtfully. "I do like the bow and arrow, for I can stand at a distance and slay with as much accuracy as swordsmen can, but I do not think I could stand to see the slain's faces…"

"I agree," the queen yawned. "But sometimes it must be done. Aslan has allowed the shedding of blood when the genuine need arises…and I think that insubordination, rebellion, and invasion are reasons plenty to make war. Galma's king Helmin is accountable to Peter, you know—Peter ranks him significantly, and really holds rule over Galma."

Enna looked over at the young queen. "He…really?"

"Yes. Did you not know that?"

"No! I had no idea. I was raised to pay homage to Helmin and his princes, and no one else. I did not even know where Narnia was, exactly, much less the names of her monarchs. I…I was taught that Narnians were uncivilized beasts, and not much else."

"How curious that you came here, then, of all places," Queen Lucy said with another gargantuan yawn.

Enna mulled over this new bit of information—how curious, indeed, that her people would have conveniently forgotten that their almighty ruler was actually subservient to the barbarian king! "We should rest, Your Majesty."

_"Lucy_. And yes…goodnight."

"Goodnight."

--

_A/N: Just a bit of vocab practice so you all don't have to go running to a dictionary like I did when I first heard this word, XD:_

_**spaulder**__: basically, it's an armor shoulder-guard. People have worn it in pretty much every fantasy/medieval movie in the world—including both Narnia movies!— so it shouldn't be too hard to visualize. :P_

_A/N to sexyredhead: LOL, I'm glad you liked that part! A bit random, true, but thanks all the same! :D_


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

_A/N: W00t! Only four more days until voting for Narnia Fanfiction Revolution's Awards voting closes! Be sure to vote for us by the link at the top of our profile page! (Won't you all be glad when I stop bugging? I will be.)_

--

Enna woke to a sound she had not heard in months—birds. The sun shone on the red roof of the tent, lighting everything inside with a pinkish tint, and the tentative, yet gay, warbles of early newcomers sounded from the bare trees around the camp.

Stretching, Enna sat up and rubbed at her scratchy eyes, the scab on her cheek uncomfortably stiff. Queen Lucy had already woken and dressed, judging by the nearby neat bundle of bedding, ready to be packed away for another day's travel; against the cloth wall were cast shadows of Narnians passing by with their arms full, pulling down camp and preparing to do their king's bidding. She had slept much too late.

When Enna emerged from the sleep-warmed little tent, blinking in the bright sunshine, Lord Lorendo, his red hair wild and his ermine cloak thrown back from his shoulders, stopped and bowed low.

"Is today not a beautiful morn, my lady?"

"Aye," Enna replied, her arrows rattling in her quiver as she curtsied. "'Tis."

Lorendo scratched his horse's ears. "I daresay Spring has unfurled her battle banners and beaten Winter's armies back!"

Enna smiled. "It is very nice, indeed. The air is warm."

"The first day of spring, I should warrant. But—His Majesty the high king will wish to take full advantage of the warmth. I suggest milady readies herself for more travel."

"Aye. Thank you, Lord Lorendo."

The Nymrunian bowed low and led his horse away, and Enna went off in search of breakfast. At the smoldering fire where a red-faced Dwarf sat stirring a pot of mush, she found Aramir and King Edmund, looking nearly identical as the two dark-haired young men hungrily shoved spoonfuls of the food into their mouths.

"Good morning, sire," Enna said. "Good morning, Aramir."

They both mumbled a distracted greeting.

Grinning to herself, she took some mush from the Dwarf and sat next to Aramir on the ground, the damp mud immediately beginning to seep through her skirts. "Lord Lorendo thinks that spring is upon us."

"At long last," King Edmund said around a mouthful. "I was beginning to fear another Hundred Years' Winter, Aslan forbid. But it seems as though he has granted us a warm day."

"The trees are starting to bloom already," Aramir noted.

Enna looked around. Indeed, little white blossoms and soft green buds were forming on what had yesterday been dead twigs! "How curious! In Galma, it takes weeks for the trees to open."

"This is _Narnia_," King Edmund replied. "Here, our flora remember so vividly the H.Y.W. that, the moment a warm spell falls, they begin to stir and wake themselves. In a day or so, I think the countryside will be in full flower. See? The hillsides are already turning green."

"Really? Oh, I have _so_ wanted to see a Narnian spring…"

"If only it weren't from the back of a warhorse," Aramir said dryly.

"How true," King Edmund said thickly, swallowing a mouthful of mush.

Aramir nodded, then nudged Enna with his elbow. "Look! A cat approaches. I did not know they had them here in Narnia."

"I suppose it is a Talking Cat," Enna replied, smiling at the sight of the orange, pink-nosed creature. How dearly she had loved the small rat-catchers that tumbled about in the ship storehouses on Galma!

"Well met, good sir cat," said King Edmund as the puss approached, its tail waving jauntily in the air. "How do you do?"

It simply meowed.

"I think it is a Dumb Beast," the king said. "A Talking Beast would not address his king in that manner."

Enna reached forward and petted the cat's head, and it nudged her wrist with its nose, mewling softly. "Oh, but it _is_ sweet."

Aramir tucked his calloused hand behind the cat's front leg and scratched its soft white belly, and it immediately lolled over on its side, purring loudly. Enna laughed. "He is very clean, for a dumb beast, don't you think?"

"Aye, and very soft!"

The cat batted at Enna's fingers, and she smiled, playing with its white paws. "I wonder where it came from."

"I have never seen it before," King Edmund said, peering at it. "And I never forget faces—even those of beasts."

It mewed just then, and Enna, in a burst of homesickness, scooped it up in her arms and cuddled it close, its soft orange fur familiar against her skin. "Hello, sir puss…where have you come from?"

Aramir scratched its ears and it pushed back on his hand, purring noisily and vibrating in Enna's arms. "It seems very tame."

"Does it not?" Enna dangled her plait above its paws, and it cuffed it back and forth, keeping its long white claws retracted into its fur. "It is very healthy."

"Aye. And it does know how to play."

As Aramir spoke, the cat caught Enna's braid in its claws and promptly bit the leather thong tying it together right out! Enna laughed and went to tug it from its mouth, but before she could, it leapt from her arms and darted away. "Oh, no!" she cried, trying to keep from laughing. "I have nothing else to tie my hair with!"

"You'd better hurry if you wish to catch him," King Edmund said as the tabby disappeared between a row of tents.

Enna huffed a sigh and picked up her skirts to give pursuit, Aramir at her heels. It was harder running through a camp than it was to walk, they soon found, as it was much more difficult to avoid collisions with creatures wearing heavy armor when traveling at high speeds. But always, no matter what, the orange tail of the tabby cat was just ahead, waving tauntingly from around tents and behind Narnians. Eventually, it led the pair to the outskirts of camp, to the edge of the forest that blanketed their side of the hill, and Aramir paused.

"Enna, are you quite sure you should chase the cat up the hill? It's quite a ways, and you might get lost…"

"I won't have my hair in my face the whole campaign, Aramir," Enna called back, hurrying into the forest.

She heard Aramir sigh, but he followed her after another moment, and quickly overtook her, his footsteps muffled by the thick needles and leaves carpeting the forest floor. The sounds of camp faded quickly away behind them, and there were soon only the sounds of Enna's skirt brushing the leaves and their own labored breathing.

"It's rather darker in here, isn't it," Aramir noted.

"Aye. And see? There is no snow. At least, not much."

"All this for a cord."

"Aye." Enna tossed her unruly hair. "I can hardly stand it as it is—I must have that tie, or I shall be blinded the rest of the journey."

"Could we not have asked someone else for one?"

Enna looked at him. "Well, why didn't you present that suggestion a bit _earlier_?"

"I didn't think of it until now."

"Well, we're here now—we might as well try to find that rascal cat."

Aramir sighed again and the two fell silent, the hillside steep and their breath short. The terrain soon became noticeably different: rocks, big and moss-covered, began to take the place of the soft, squishy mud, and Enna tripped more than once over roots hidden in clefts of rock and dirt.

Fifteen long, quiet minutes passed, and there was no sign of the cat. "We must be near the top now," Aramir panted, even his long legs tired by the trek.

"Perhaps," Enna replied unevenly, clutching a stitch in her side.

"I'll strike you a deal. When we reach the top, and there is no sign of that blasted animal, then we will turn around and go back downhill."

"All right."

"And don't arg—" Aramir stopped. "Why aren't you arguing?"

Enna looked at him quizzically. "Must I always argue? You spoke sense."

Aramir blinked. "I see."

They continued on in silence, Enna musing over his words. Was he really that surprised that she did not bicker? Was she truly that argumentative? _Hmm_. _Perhaps it would behoove me to be a bit less quarrelsome._

There came a rustle from somewhere to the right just then, and Enna sighed. "Here it is. Come out from the bush, sir kitty. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty—!"

The rustling sound came again, loudly, and something that sounded like heavy breathing.

"That doesn't sound like a cat, Enna…"

Enna took a step backwards, coming to an abrupt stop against Aramir's solid chest. "What do you suppose it is?"

"I'd rather not think about it, to be honest."

But, as it turned out, they would have to even if Aramir wasn't all that keen about doing so. A _bear_, its big heavy paws stomping on the thickly carpeted ground and its huge head swinging to and fro between its shoulders, shuffled from behind an ancient evergreen, its breath snorting from wide, black nostrils.

Aramir drew Arondight slowly from its sheath, the steel rasping loudly in the clearing. The bear snorted and stiffened at the sound, and Aramir stepped possessively in front of Enna, nudging her backwards, his knuckles white around the sword's hilt.

"Go back to camp," he said slowly to her in a low voice. "I'll follow as soon as the bear leaves."

Enna started to obey, but at her movement, the bear started and reared up on its hind legs, snarling. Aramir's shoulders tensed and he instantly crouched down a fraction, his feet readying for motion if the need arose.

Roaring something terrible, the great, dark-eyed bear slashed the air with its paws and took a step towards them. Enna leapt backwards a step, her heart pounding feverishly with fright, but Aramir stood his ground, his shoulders back and his mail shirt jingling as he slowly brought his sword up.

"Careful…" she breathed needlessly.

The bear snarled again, and Enna fought to keep her head. How could Aramir stand there, so calm and collected, when a thousand pounds of furry _death_ was going to eat them as breakfast!

Suddenly, Aramir leapt forward, his sword out, and the bear swung a heavy paw at his head. Enna clung to the trunk of a moss-covered oak, wanting to close her eyes but unable to. Spittle and foam was flying from the bear's wide-open mouth, and its great claws slashed mercilessly at Aramir, who had no shield. There was a loud _rip_ as one talon caught the hem of his jerkin and tore it.

"Keep your sword up!" Enna cried as his arm faltered and his guard went down.

Aramir heeded her word not a moment too late, for a heavy blow from the bear's paw landed square on his outstretched forearm. His cry of startled pain made Enna cringe somewhere deep inside, and his sword went sailing out of his grasp, landing with a thud in the bracken. The bear advanced on him.

Enna thought briefly about what her next actions should be, but every way she considered it, what she decided on was the most logical. She reached back and took her bow and an arrow from her quiver and fitted them together, hands shaking, and took somewhat reckless aim at the bear. The string twanged loudly when she released it.

She had been hoping and rather intending for the white-fletched arrow to find its mark somewhere in the mortally-woundable area of the bear's chest and-or neck, but, alas, it decided otherwise, and buried itself in the bear's elbow. With a knee-weakening snarl, it wheeled about and began to lumber back towards her.

Enna's heart was beating so fast and so hard that it almost drowned out the sound of the bear's heavy breathing. But something deep inside her gave her arm a little nudge, and, almost without knowing it, she fitted another arrow into the string and aimed it straight for the neck of the bear that was quickly advancing on her, closer and closer by the second.

"Enna, by the lion's mane, _shoot!"_

Aramir's shout stirred her into motion. With a deep breath, she checked her aim one last time and loosed the arrow. It went into the bear's flesh at the juncture of the shoulder and the neck with a sickening crunch that the targets she'd practiced on had never done, and the gargantuan beast stumbled backwards a pace or two.

Enna stared at the bear, and it seemed to blink a little bit and become almost toy-like before swiping weakly at her. Aramir, his newly-retrieved sword in hand, slammed into it with his shoulder, knocking it aside and calling for her to get out of the way, but she stayed in place, watching with a curious furrow in her brow as he completed the work she had begun.

She had killed something with her own hands. What a peculiar feeling it was! Of course, Aramir had done the bloody final work, but she was sure that, if left on its own with her wounds, it would have died sooner rather than later. An odd tingle was filling her body, replacing the numbing fear with numbness itself.

"It wasn't a Talking Beast," Aramir was saying, wiping his bloodied sword on a handful of leaves. "And it was very thin and graying at the ears…it must have been an old bear."

Enna watched him remove her arrows from the bear's carcass. They had sunk deep into its meat, and they came out bloody and flecked with bits of darker red flesh, and dripped a bit on its fur before Aramir wiped them clean.

"I think you'll want these," he told her quietly, the soft tone of his voice an odd contrast to the loud terror she'd experienced just a few moments before. Numbly, Enna took the arrows from him and tucked them back in her quiver, pushing her bow in alongside them.

Aramir watched her, his pitying face now rather dirty. "How do you feel?"

Enna glanced up at him. "Oh…all right, I suppose."

"All right? Or…"

"Yes."

He eyed her doubtfully. "You don't look it."

Then Enna remembered the informal decision she had made scarcely a half hour earlier to be less pigheaded. Biting her lip, she sighed and kicked a small pebble across the leafy ground. "I…I was a bit frightened." It was a half-truth—she had been terrified! And she still was!—but Aramir didn't know it.

He briefly touched her chin and tilted her face up to look him in the eye. "There's nothing wrong with being afraid."

"It was a big bear, wasn't it," Enna replied with a weak laugh.

Aramir dropped his hand from her face, chuckling. "That it was. You were very quick on the bow."

"It's a good thing, too. You might've been killed once it struck your sword from your hand!"

"I suppose I have a bit to learn before I am a great bear killer like Colvin of Archenland."

"Perhaps," she replied. "But you are still a bear-killer, nonetheless. Now, come along. I must find that cat!"

"Must you?" Aramir groaned as she set off again, marching purposefully uphill. "We just slew a bear, and you want to find a cat—!"

"The crest of the hill is not too far ahead," Enna called back. "I can see the sky!"

Aramir grumbled and followed. "As soon as we reach the top, I'm heading back to camp!"

"Fine, suit yourself."

As Enna spoke, she heard a distinct _meow_, and a mere three meters or so in front of her, the ginger cat rolled out of the shrubbery, still chewing on her leather tie. _Tsk_ing under her breath, she took a step forward, and the mischievous kitty leapt to its feet and dashed towards the top of the hill.

"Come back, naughty grimalkin," Enna growled, tripping on her hem and trying to make chase.

The cat disregarded her scolding and perched on a mossy rock, delicately licking its white paw, the tie at its feet.

Enna, seeing her chance, leapt forward and seized the thing, and the cat put its ears back briefly before going back to its grooming.

"Have you got it, then?" panted Aramir, struggling up the last bit of the rise.

"Yes, at long last," Enna replied.

Aramir picked up the ginger cat by the scruff of its neck. "I have a mind to pull that tail of yours, sir cat!"

Enna hid a laugh. "Oh, put him down."

He did so, and the beast rubbed against his boots. "Confounded creature. I'm quite sick of its tricks!"

"Oh, you're _not_."

"I am."

As if in answer, the cat mewled and scuttled over the last mound of rocks, and Enna looked at Aramir. "You've frightened him away."

"I have done no such thing!"

"You have, and I'm going to see where he runs off to," Enna replied, and before Aramir could stop her, scrambled up onto the rocks. She straightened, the wind pulling at her loose hair and the hem of her dress…

And the red standards of the Galmanian army spread out in the valley below.

--

_A/N: Whhyyyy must I be allergic to cats? :( Well, at least I have a hamster…that oughtta be worth something…_

_Or not._

_Hahahahaha! Another cliffhanger! :D I'm so evil. _


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

_A/N: Well, sorry this is so short, but at least it's on time, eh? :D I'll try to have the next chapter up sometime this week, but no guarantees, unfortunately. :(_

_Last but not least, today, January 31, is the last day to vote in Narnia Fanfiction Revolution's Awards! Cast your vote by following the link at the top of our profile page if you haven't already!_

--

"Galma? Are you sure?"

"Aye, sire. I saw it with my own eyes. There was no mistaking her battleflags."

High King Peter, his fair hair falling limp over his brow, sighed and leaned heavily on the cartography table, dropping his circleted head between his shoulders. "How did you stumble across them, Enna? Aramir? Where? I wish to hear it word for word."

The fox that had dashed up the hillside to see the sight for himself scoffed, obviously thinking that the king had deemed his word as somewhat less than trustful.

Even with Aramir's hand supporting her trembling elbow, Enna could still see the vastness of the Galmanian army every time she closed her eyes. "There was a cat, and it ran up the hill—we chased it, and there was a—a bear, and then—the Galmanians!"

Peter looked at Aramir for clarification.

"Sire, there was a small cat that stole the tie from Enna's hair. She insisted on chasing the blasted thing through camp and up the hill, where we lost it and instead stumbled upon a Dumb bear, which in turn attacked us. We slew it, and then the cat decided to waltz on by again, and Enna followed it to the crest of the hill, over which she looked and thus saw the Galmanian host camped in the valley below."

Enna nodded. "Aye. And, by the smoke from their fires, it seemed to me that they are in no great hurry."

Peter sighed and looked down at the numerous maps spread out on the table, dappled with golden midmorning sunlight shining through the green boughs of the trees overhead. "I see. And was it a great host?"

"Aye, very," Enna replied. "At least a hundred and fifty score, certainly more."

"Three thousand," Peter murmured to himself, running a hand through his hair. His advisors and King Edmund looked on silently, obviously all unwilling to suggest any potentially counterproductive or unsuccessful strategies.

"How great is our number?" Enna said after a brief pause, hoping to stimulate Peter's military mind.

"We are no greater than a thousand, ourselves," Peter sighed.

Enna bit her lip. "Can we not avoid them…?"

"Avoid them?" Peter laughed shortly. "Is the aim of this campaign not to thwart the Galmanians from invading Narnia further?"

"I _meant_," Enna replied a bit crossly, before she remembered her promise. She softened her tone. "I naturally assume that there are far more than three thousand Narnians. Perhaps we ought to circle around the Galmanians and reinforce our numbers."

"The young lady speaks wisdom, sire," said a faun in royal livery.

"But you neglect to remember Beruna," Peter replied, fisting his hands on the table. "We _must_ stop the Galmanians from capturing Beruna at whatever cost. Come here, Enna, and look at the map."

Enna glanced once at Aramir, who let go of her elbow, before going around the table and looking down at the well-worn scroll. "Aye. We are within seven leagues of Beruna."

"That is at less than four days' travel, if the armies make good time through the pass," Peter said, looking at her with stormy blue eyes.

She sighed, tracing the path of the Great River with her finger. "I see."

"If it were any time else, your suggestion would be feasible."

"I see. I am sorry for questioning you." As Enna spoke, she gazed down at the map, a little paperweight marking the position of the Narnian camp at the base of the Lithil highlands. A break in the clusters of hills west of the camp marked the beginning of the pass, and circled around the ridge that she and Aramir had climbed up earlier before straightening out briefly in the valley where the Galmanians were encamped and then continuing on its twisted way.

"The only alternative I can think of," Peter said in frustration a few moments later, "is to direct the army over the hill and charge down it into the midst of the enemy."

Enna didn't say anything, but that strategy seemed rather…dangerous.

"Do you have a death wish?" King Edmund asked. "Such a tactic would be near suicide. The hillside is heavily wooded and steep, and a straight charge down it would be nearly impossible."

"Well, then," Peter snapped, "do _you_ have a better idea, my _royal_ brother?"

Enna, who had been looking carefully at the map, bit her lip. "I might, Peter."

Everyone stared at her.

Peter sighed and leaned on the table again. "Speak it, then."

"If we cannot use the high ground to our advantage," Enna said slowly and calculatingly, tapping the map, "then we cannot. But we may use other natural virtues to our advantage."

"Continue," Peter said, a contemplative look on his face.

She took a breath. "The Lithil Downs pass opens up just west of camp. The Galmanian army is encamped here"—she jabbed at the map—"in the widest region of the Pass, before it narrows and begins to meander. Do you follow?"

"Aye, so far."

"If we can somehow pin the army against these hills," she went on, tracing the part of the Downs that protruded out from the rest of hills and made the Pass narrower, "then we will have the advantage."

Peter leaned over her shoulder, watching her trace a path from the camp to the suggested battlefield. "I follow. Do you have any suggestions as to _how_ to pin them against the hills?"

The slightly scornful tone of his voice was not lost on Enna, but she ignored it and tapped her chin in thought. "We might come along the Pass here, and, instead of meeting them head on _here_, we come in in long rows and shallow columns and swing like a door to force them against the cliffs."

A pregnant pause followed.

Peter cleared his throat. "Show me that again, and use this quill to signify the Narnians."

Enna obliged and, holding the pen against the map, moved it through the Pass and then turned it gently to the left as though she were sweeping bits of dust away. "Do you see?"

"I think I do," Peter replied. "Edmund, Orieus, come here and observe. Enna, kindly demonstrate once again."

Enna, rather disconcerted now that King Edmund and the High Constable were watching, repeated the movement.

"I see, sire," said the centaur.

"And? What do you and my royal brother think of the idea?"

"I think it viable," said Orieus. "Galma has no knowledge of our armies' proximity, and my mind has not conjured up any immediate misgivings."

"If we wish for this tactic to work," put in King Edmund, "we must plug up the northern end of the pass once our armies have passed through it. Thus, the Galmanians will either have to retreat southward or fight."

"Excellent," said Peter, thumping the table, an urgent glint in his eyes. "So it shall be. Orieus, see to it that all Narnians are armored and equipped with weaponry. I wish it that the cats, bulls, bears, and dogs proceed at the vanguard, and impede the Galmanians' preparation as much as possible, and retreat when that army gathers its strength. At this time, we, having entered the Pass, will advance into the valley, our main strength concentrated as Lady Enna has described, shoulder-to-shoulder, flank-to-flank, in two rows. The smaller warriors I desire to be evenly spaced between the larger ones, so our extent will be as uniform as possible. I want the winged warriors equipped with boulders and other projectiles, and they are to be overhead at all times. Put Targu and Eena the elephants in the rear, and keep them in the pass to reinforce our block. (Make sure that the mice are far in the front.) When this is completed, we shall move as Lady Enna has illustrated.

"As for the archers, I want them placed among the trees on the hillsides, where they can be within easy range and yet well-shielded by the flora. They are to keep a steady broadside of arrows upon the enemy, reinforcing…no, preceding _and_ reinforcing our advancement. Command Field Marshal Piretus that he has license to advance or retreat his archers if need arises, but only if the _severest_ need arises."

He paused, drawing a deep breath. "I also wish it that my royal sister stays with the archers."

"Lucy will not love you the more for it," King Edmund said wryly.

"As long as she survives this battle, I do not care a whit what she thinks," Peter replied. "Enna? Aramir? If you do not wish to fight, then say so now and I will not hold it against you."

Enna, whose head was spinning with the idea that the High King of Narnia, his brother, and the High Constable had agreed with and supported her little strategy, stammered, "Well, I—erm…"

"She means absolutely not, Your Majesty," Aramir interrupted. "We are Narnian citizens, and we will fight for her."

Peter put his hands at his waist and looked at Enna, and she nodded.

"Very well. Enna, you will join the archers. Aramir, I want you in the columns of fightingmen. You will have to be armored better than you are now."

"What about me, Peter?" Enna protested. "Should _I_ not be armored, as well?"

"You will be in the trees, Enna, far from harm."

"Yet your other archers are dressed for battle," she replied.

Peter, obviously keen to begin, waved his hand distractedly. "Very well. Make sure Her Majesty Lucy is made ready, as well. And Enna—please. Will you try to keep her in her place? Don't let her leave your sight, or she'll get into mischief."

Enna curtsied, her heart pounding with adrenaline already. "Aye, Peter."

"Then away with you both. For Narnia!"

"And for Aslan," Enna heard Aramir murmur.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

_A/N: Well, the results are in for Narnia Fanfiction Revolution's Awards. Alas, we didn't win anything, but that's okay. After all, the point of writing Narnia fanfics is to entertain readers and pay homage to Lewis, not win awards! :D Thanks to all those that voted for us—your support means a lot! _

_Maybe next year we'll win the best sequel award, eh? ;D_

--

"I cannot believe my oaf of a brother has commanded me to stay _here_, on the sidelines. Me! Lucy the Valiant! Queen of Narnia! Warrior and swordswoman of the highest order!"

"And a young girl," Enna said, combing her hair back into a plait. "Your Majesty forgets your youth."

"Youth? Pah! I could take on those Galmanian chowderheads any day! No offense meant, of course."

"None taken, I assure you."

Queen Lucy kicked a clod of mud as she struggled with a large mail shirt. "Oh, I will have Peter's _head_ when this scuffle is over with. I hate it when he goes all jealous on me like this."

"Perhaps he is simply watching out for his sister. Three of Narnia's four monarchs cannot be in the same battle together—you know this. It is foolish."

"It may be so," Queen Lucy grumbled. "But why could _Edmund_ not wait here?"

"He is a warrior king, Your Majesty."

"And _I_ am a warrior _queen!_ I see no difference!"

Enna sighed in exasperation, tugging at her own chain mail and cinching a leather belt on over it. "You are younger than he."

"You forget _your_ age, Enna!" Lucy exploded. "You are not that much older than I!"

"I will be nineteen in a fortnight," Enna replied calmly, refusing to be goaded into an argument with the young girl. "You are scarcely seventeen summers."

"But—"

"Your brothers have commanded you, Queen Lucy," Enna warned, "and I recommend that you heed their word."

Queen Lucy harrumphed unhappily, still scowling, and put a scarlet jerkin on over her mail shirt. It clashed terribly with her mauve skirt, but she didn't seem to care. "It was smart of them to let us keep a pair of horses—I would have been very unhappy should we have been obliged to _stand_ the whole time."

"Perhaps," Enna said noncommittally, reaching down to adjust her boots.

"I am very excited to see Narnia rout the Galmanians. Aren't you?"

"You seem very sure of an easy victory."

"Have I not reason? My brother's strategy is a brilliant one."

_It was_ my _strategy,_ thought Enna, but didn't say anything about it. "Do you need help with your quiver?"

"A bit," admitted the young queen, trying to get the article on over her armor. "Susan is the archer of the four of us, not I. But I shall try, believe me. I want to kill a Galmanian!"

Her words fazed Enna only slightly, and she helped her buckle on her quiver before slipping her own over her shoulder. "I shall aim only to aid our army."

"Well, I don't blame you. The enemy _are_ your people, after all."

"They are not my people any longer," Enna replied shortly, Lucy's words stinging. She had denounced them, yes, but they still shared a common blood, a collective history and culture. It would not be easy, to fire arrows into their midst.

"True." Queen Lucy buckled her vambrace snugly and helped Enna do the same. "I admire your grit, Enna, I really do. I could never kill Narnians."

"Narnians have not caused you as much grief as Galma has caused me, Your Majesty."

Queen Lucy opened her mouth to reply, but her words were cut across by a centaur's muffled battle horn. "Ah—finally!" she exclaimed, running to the tent flap and flinging it aside. "We are mobilizing."

"Go on, let's get up on our horses, then," Enna urged, nudging her out of the tent. "You know who the archers are? And where to find them?"

"Aye. I will lead us to them."

Enna nodded and turned to her horse, a big grey beast with a rather ancient-looking saddle. "Pity you aren't a Talking Horse," she said to it as she slipped one foot into the stirrup.

"I doubt a Talking Horse will do much good where _we're_ going to be situated," replied the thing.

Enna started with surprise and fell flat on her back in the muddy grass. "You—you're a Talking Horse, after all!" she exclaimed, staring up at it.

"Aye? And what of it?"

"Well—shouldn't you be with His Majesty's troops, rather than seating me?"

"I'm twenty-nine summers old," yawned the horse. "I doubt I'd be much help at the front lines."

"Enna, are you all right? I saw you fall off!"

Aramir's freckled face loomed above hers, and she stiffly sat up. "Aye, aye, I'm fine."

He gave her his gauntleted hand and hoisted her to her feet. "That'll ache in the morning, I'll warrant."

"Unfortunately, so will many other things before the day is done." She got a good look at him as she stood—he was fully outfitted in Narnian battle-dress, his gleaming pauldrons glinting in the near-noon sun. "You look very official," she noted, eyeing the extent of his armor: mail everywhere, Arondight buckled at his scarlet-clad waist, a glinting helmet under his arm, gold-inlaid greaves clanging against his shins.

"As do you," he replied. "How does mail feel?"

"Hot, heavy, and terribly itchy." Enna sighed. "How do you put up with it?"

Before he could answer, the battle-horn sounded again, and he straightened. "Well, I…I guess this is goodbye for now."

"I suppose so." Enna scuffed the toe of her boot along the ground, dragging up bits of grass and mud. The pause between them was painful, but Enna had never prepared for battle before! What was one supposed to say before plunging into such blind danger? Aramir mimicked her movement seemingly unintentionally and cleared his throat.

"Aramir!" Queen Lucy, holding a satchel in her hands, came out of the tent. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with my brother?"

"Aye," he replied. "I was just…saying goodbye to Enna."

"Well, I'd get on with it, then."

Aramir nodded. "Aye, Your Majesty."

Enna looked up at him, her stomach churning as the full import of the moment came crashing over her. He could _die_ today, and she would never see him again.

"Wish me luck?" he asked.

She cleared her throat, frowning. "Aye. Aye, good luck, Aramir."

They shook hands briskly and turned away from each other, the jangle of Aramir's armor fading away as he went off and Enna mounted her horse, who snorted and put its ears back at her clumsy efforts.

"That's all you had to say to each other?" Lucy asked, shouldering her satchel and mounting her steed easily.

Enna cleared her throat again. "What would you have had us say instead?"

"Oh, I don't know—but something more _meaningful_ than 'good luck'! _Anyone_ can wish anyone 'good luck.'"

The young queen urged her horse into a fast walk, and Enna's mount followed. "But I _do_ wish him luck."

"You ought to have wished him Aslan's guidance," Lucy replied archly. "Or protection in battle. Not _luck_! And it is hardly ladylike to shake hands, you know—the least you could have done was offer him your handkerchief as a token of your affection."

Enna snorted. "I have no affection for him."

"Not romantically, then," Lucy conceded. "But you _are_ fond of him, that much I can tell."

"Well, why should I not be?" Enna's mount put its ears back at her sharp tone. "Have we not both come from similar circumstances?"

Queen Lucy looked at her in alarm. "Well, aye, but there's no need to get all snappy!"

It was Enna's turn to harrumph, and the rest of the short ride went by in silence. The rest of the archers were assembled in neat columns at the foot of the hill, and a faun in fine livery was pacing worriedly in front of them.

"Ah, Your Majesty!" he cried when he spotted them.

"I apologize for our tardiness, Marshal Piretus," Lucy replied, reining her horse in. "It was quite my fault."

"Never you mind, Your Majesty, what matters is that you are here now. You have heard our orders, I presume?"

"Aye."

"Then I will not trifle with explaining the details a second time. But we will climb up this slope here, though not straight up—we will advance upward and rightward, at an angle that will make our ascent easier."

"Aye, I follow."

"We do not fire upon the Galmanians until we see that the vanguard has entered the camp," Piretus continued, speaking rapidly and without taking a breath. "Once they have, however, I will direct the courses of our arrows."

"Aye, Piretus."

"How strange it is, to be giving orders to my queen!" the faun murmured to himself. Lucy giggled, but he clapped his hands. "Never mind that! Onward and upward!"

Once again, Enna entered the dark and silent forest that shaded the rocky hillside. It wasn't so bad this time around, however, for she had Queen Lucy, who was humming a gay tune, on her right, and to the left were the ten or eleven dozen bipedal Narnians that were clambering up the slope, their arrows and bows clattering around in their quivers. In fact, she might have been quite at ease, had they not been climbing up to a battlefield.

As the sunlight that shone through the thinning trees grew brighter and brighter, Piretus motioned for silence, and the Narnians inched toward the crest of the hill as quietly as they could manage. The distant sounds of an army camp wafted up to them from the valley below, and plumes of smoke from the tar-kindled fires drifted lazily through the clear blue sky. As the band came up over the rocky crown, the valley spread itself out below them and the full size of the Galmanian army dawned on the archers, whose eyes widened in fear. A few snippets of words and officers' orders came to Enna's ear as her horse perched on the flat rocks, and the accents were so wonderfully familiar that she almost smiled before she remembered her place. Once, there was a rough shout, and the Narnians shied back farther into the trees, thinking that they had been spotted, but Enna shook her head: "That's ancient Galmanian for 'pass that bottle of wine'."

"It sounds so barbaric," Queen Lucy said, aghast.

"Well, Galmanian wine is a barbaric drink," Enna sighed.

Suddenly, over the clamor of sailors' voices and other army noises, there came a sound that made the hairs on the back of Enna's neck stand straight on end—it was the great cats, their horrid shrieking roars echoing up from the valley. At first, the shouting of men was heard only in the far side of the canyon, but as the beasts drove further into it and the word spread, a rumble of panic swelled up until it echoed off of every cliff and hillside, and the Galmanian army was in a tizzy of fright. Great, winged griffins and cruel-clawed eagles, bearing moss-covered stones, hurtled overhead, adding their own unique calls to the clamor of men, beasts, and heavy boulders slamming into the earth.

"Ready arrows!" came the shout from behind Enna. She scrabbled for her bow and, her hands shaking, fitted a white-fletched arrow to it.

"Aim!"

She tried not to sight at anything in particular, but there was some stupid lump just standing in the midst of the chaos, right at her target level.

"Fire!"

"Move, you halfwit!" she bellowed as her arrow left her bow. But the lummox continued to stand in place, and a second later, he crumpled to the ground, Enna's arrow deep in his neck.

"Excellent shot!" Queen Lucy cried. "I got a captain!"

Enna leaned over her saddle and retched. Her horse snorted unhappily and shifted quickly to the side, eyeing her darkly. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, wiping her mouth with her rough glove. Killing a bear had been one thing—but a man? A _Galmanian_ man? That was another matter entirely.

"Ready arrows!" came the order from behind again.

Her hands were trembling so violently that she could scarcely draw another arrow from her quiver, but Enna forced herself to go through with it.

"Aim!"

Clenching her jaw to stop its quavering, Enna's breath came in shaky gasps as she lined up her arrow with a standard bearer who was waving his flag in front of a growing column of soldiers.

"Fire!"

Her arrow missed its fatal mark, but it shot a hole through the hateful white banner with the blazing red sun, and, at that moment, the Galmanian army realized the archers' position.

"Fire at will!" Piretus cried as red-fletched arrows began to break through the tree branches.

One landed particularly near Enna's horse as she took aim, and her arrow flew off-target, catching some poor page in the foot. "Concentrate, Enna!" Queen Lucy called, sending off perfectly aimed arrows every few seconds.

Over the din of battle, though, a horn blew a clear note that wavered in the air for a long moment. "Oh, thank the Lion, the army's comin' through!" cried one satyr, clicking its heels in excitement.

The Galmanian army, holding their round, leather-covered shields over their heads to staunch the hail of arrows, got into line, and, their red and white banners waving, rushed forward to engage the Narnian army, two long rows of steadfastly marching, glinting-armored warriors. Somewhere in that mass of conflict, Enna thought unsteadily, Aramir had his sword drawn and was preparing to bend it against his fellow man for the first time. And Peter, the king, would fall under certain and relentless attack.

"Oh, Lucy, I cannot bear to watch!" she burst out, turning away.

Lucy cuffed her arm sharply. "Don't be a ninny, now, Enna! You're a soldier for Narnia! Act it!"

With difficulty, Enna drew another arrow and fired it into the heaving mass of battle, trying to aim for the leather-clad warriors and avoid the scarlet-jerkined ones.

Meanwhile, the rain of arrows falling on their own heads was growing thicker. One nicked Enna's cheek as she foolishly looked down to adjust her belt.

"Piretus, we must retreat!" she heard herself cry. "It is far too dangerous here for us!"

"Well said, my lady," Piretus said. "Fall back! Fall back to the cover of the trees!"

All too gladly did the archers scramble for safety. It was quieter there on the other side of the hill, and Enna was grateful for it. Others, however, weren't.

"This is quite a letdown," Queen Lucy announced. "I expected to see a battle, and here I am, cowering in the bush like a yellow-belly!"

"Your Majesty, it was much too hazardous to remain where we were," Piretus pleaded. "What would your royal brothers say to me if you got shot under my watch?"

Queen Lucy harrumphed and tugged at her horse's reins. "Well, I'm not going to sit here. I'll see you all after the battle!"

And with that, she wheeled her horse around and spurred it up over the ridge and out of sight.

"Your Majesty!" Piretus cried despairingly.

Enna squeezed her eyes shut and fought a violent shudder, hugging her bow close. "I'll follow her and fetch her back, Marshall Piretus," she said. "His Majesty charged me with her care—"

"Then away with you!" the faun cried, his wrinkled face turning red with exertion as he motioned vigorously. "Stop that fool queen before she gets herself killed!"

Enna didn't need telling twice. Clutching the reins with all her might, she urged her horse out of the safety of the mossy boulders. The arrows that landed in the leaves at their feet were fewer than before, as though the Galmanian archers had given up on them and turned elsewhere. But there were deep disturbances in the dirt, as though a hurried horse had slipped and skipped downhill.

"I don't like this one bit, I don't like this one bit," Enna's horse felt a need to chant under its breath.

Enna didn't like it either, but she determinedly kicked the grey hard in the ribs and hung on for dear life as they careened down the slope, the sounds of battle growing louder and louder.

At last, just as the ground was beginning to flatten, Enna caught a glimpse of Queen Lucy's mauve skirts at the same moment that a high-pitched, blood-curdling yowl echoed against the trees. Too late, Enna realized that it was the young girl's battle cry, and that the queen of Narnia had just plunged into the morass of Narnians and Galmanians, her sharp knife glinting in the sun.

"You've done it now," said her horse.

"Because you said that to me," Enna scolded, drawing an arrow from her quiver, "we are going to follow her."

"Into _battle_?" gasped the beast.

"The very same. Now, _yah_!"

Enna kicked the horse hard, and it leapt abruptly forward, sending Enna—and her nerves—wobbling dangerously. But she could see swords flashing up and down (they were only a stone's throw away from the field!), and she knew very well that if she were not ready, she just might—

They crashed into battle. The warriors, startled momentarily by the sudden appearance of yet another horse, leapt back with shouts, before quickly reforming and redoubling their efforts. Enna's horse galloped blindly through the confusion, once narrowly missing a fallen Galmanian's head. Blades slashed at Enna's legs, nearly cutting through to the skin, and she heedlessly lashed out at those nearby with the arrow that was clutched in her trembling hand, struggling to keep her seat and her eyes on the queen, whose horse was rearing up as she rallied the flagging Narnian left.

Suddenly, Enna felt herself being tugged from the saddle. Unthinkingly, she drew her hand back and struck her assailant across the face, and he released his grip on her skirts, but not before their eyes met and she recognized him as Ikri Kleppyr, a sailor that she had once known in Galma.

Shaken but unharmed, Enna turned back to the task at hand and spurred her mount to catch up with Queen Lucy, whose horse was trapped between a wall of soldiers on one side and a mound of rock on the other.

"Why, hello, Enna!" the queen called as Enna's horse scattered the Galmanians before it. "Are you here to help?"

"I'm here to drag you back to the hilltop by your _ear_, Your Majesty!" Enna bellowed back.

Before Lucy could respond, a sword whistled through the air, and Enna's horse whinnied frantically, bolting away. Enna tried to grab hold of its mane, but the fine hair slipped through her fingers, and she fell from the saddle, landing painfully on the rocky ground. The sky above swirled around her, and for a long moment, Enna struggled to draw a breath.

Someone dragged her up by her shoulder, the man's sharp grip biting through the chain mail and digging into her flesh. "Well, if it isn't little Enna," said the grimy-faced warrior.

Enna kicked viciously at Ikri's shins. "I don't know what you're talking about, you barbarian!"

Ikri grimaced as her toes make contact with a sharp edge of his armor, but he continued to hold her shoulder in a deathgrip. "You've caused quite a bit of grief, you know."

Enna did not want anything to do with this. Summoning the last reserves of her strength and courage, she threw herself upon the heavily armored warrior, knocking him off-balance and toppling him to the ground. He landed with a loud crash, his sword flying from his grip, and Enna, before he could get up, scrambled for the lost weapon and drove it through the man's thick leather jerkin, pinning him securely to the earth.

"Come back here, you unbridled hellcat!" Ikri bellowed as Enna ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

She paid him no heed as she sprinted across the grassy field, leaping over corpses and trying not to look down. The Narnians had engaged the Galmanians farther down the valley, and, to her untrained eye, it seemed as though they were pushing the enemy back! There were more waving rampart lions than four-rayed scarlet suns.

Then, as she watched, a mighty shout rose up from the Narnian front. The breath caught in Enna's throat—had the Galmanians repelled them? No—it was a cheer of triumph!

"Narnia has won the day!"


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

_A/N: Wow, aren't you guys lucky—two updates in as many days! :D To business, though: at the top of our profile page is a poll concerning the title of Sea Rat's sequel. Do my poor title-deprived mind a favor and vote on the best ones? Thanks so much!_

--

A clear bugle-call echoed against the sides of the surrounding bluffs, mixing and wavering with the swelling cheers of the victorious Narnian army. Summoned by the sound, the archers from atop the hill started streaming down to the valley, whooping and hollering with joy as they went.

Gradually, as her heart slowed and the adrenaline in her body disappeared, Enna began to shiver with weariness. Despite the elation in the air, she could see no farther than the ruination around her feet: partially-extinguished campfires hissed softly as wisps of steam wafted periodically from the trampled kindle, and a canvas tent that had been knocked over in the chaos onto one of the unattended fires still puffed plumes of dark smoke into the sky. Everywhere, the skeletons of splintered tents lay like dead beasts on the muddy grass.

But it wasn't this that horrified Enna so deeply—it was the _real_ dead beasts, sprawling lifelessly on the ground, that did, Galmanian and Narnian alike. In all the war books that she had so eagerly devoured, never once had a battlefield been described _after_ the fighting was done.

It was a bitterly lonely place.

She wandered aimlessly about, the hem of her brown skirts growing damp with the mud that splashed up from her boots. There were quite a few slain Galmanians about, and the faintly bemused looks on their pale faces made something deep inside Enna's chest give a painful wrench. The bodies of dead Narnians did not yet wrest so at her heart, for their beastly faces did not quite capture the indistinct uncertainty that rested on those of slain Sons of Adam.

Still, the sight was very sad, and tears once pricked the corners of her eyes when she came upon the body of a young, fluffy-tailed hound, savagely pierced with so many red-fletched arrows that he resembled a furry pincushion. Nearby rested the body of the horse that she'd so foolishly spurred into battle—deep gashes in its neck and side demonstrated the extent of the enemy's cruelty, that they would willingly slay a riderless horse.

So carefully was Enna scanning the faces of each scarlet-clad Narnian body that she tripped several times over arrows that had missed their mark and been driven into the loose soil. Methodically, she plucked them from the earth and, wiping them on her skirt, filled her quiver until her bow stopped clattering around. There was no use in wasting weapons, was there?

The Narnian army was beginning to trickle back towards her, and Enna knew that if she didn't find what she was looking for _now_, she might not until it was too late. She had to find him herself—she could not bear being told by some second party.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of movement. It was a dark-haired, scarlet-jerkined Narnian warrior, staggering to his feet, shield- and swordless.

"Aramir!" Enna cried, and hurried towards him as fast as her faltering feet would carry her.

But it was not Aramir that turned at the sound of her voice. "Lady Enna!" King Edmund sounded surprised to see her. "I did not expect—where is my sister?"

Enna's disappointment was immediately overwhelmed with alarm. "I—I—oh, sire—"

"What have you done with her?" The king took a step forward and seized her by the shoulders, his muddy and bruised face turning red with rage and horror.

She quailed under the ferocity of his stare, but rallied her courage and met his eyes resolutely. "I could not contain her, sire. She went into battle despite all my efforts to stop her."

"She—she—" King Edmund's grip weakened, and his hands fell from her arms. "She went into battle…?"

"I made chase to the best of my horse's ability," Enna said. "I last saw her making admirable progress by that mound of boulders."

King Edmund held a bloodied hand to his face as he shook his head. "Oh, Lucy…Lucy!"

Now more alarmed than ever at the king's weakness, Enna spun around, shading her eyes from the noonday sun as she searched for the queen's horse. But it was nowhere to be found. "Foolish girl!"

"Don't say such things about my sister," Edmund snarled. "If it weren't for your ineptitude at keeping a _girl_ in line, she would have been safe!"

Enna's jaw stuck out of its own accord. "You speak of her as though she were dead, sire. And I see no reason to think her so! You underestimate her far too greatly."

As if on cue, a chestnut, sweat-stained horse trotted out from behind a stand of tall brush, and, a moment later, a hopping-mad young queen ran after it, letting her fine skirts drag in the dirt.

"Lucy!" King Edmund exclaimed, and he ran towards her, his armor clanging madly. "Where on Earth have you _been_?"

"I _do_ dislike Dumb horses sometimes," Queen Lucy replied crossly. "That one just dumped me from the saddle and left me there in a heap!"

Enna felt the tension melt from her body, and she even managed a shaky smile as the king embraced his sister, the young queen still ranting on about her horse and how silly it was, and—"Oh! Did you see how I repelled that big Galmanian brute that came running at me with a spear? Our people put up a good fight, did they not? And Edmund, I rallied a flank! Did you see? Of course you saw—how could you not have? It was my flank that pushed the Galmanian one back against the cliff, after all! And Peter said that the Galmanians were fleeing southward—is that not wonderful news? Oh, it has been the most glorious day."

Enna shook her head, wishing to be like Queen Lucy, irrepressible and ebullient despite all odds. Then she could stop worrying about Aramir! Oh, the distress was gnawing at her insides like nothing else—her heart, now without the distraction of the missing queen, was free to pound in her ears while her brain concocted evil images of the dark-haired youth lying cold and forgotten under some Galmanian corpse.

Without her knowing it, tears had sprung to her eyes once again, and she heedlessly sniffed them back, drawing into her nostrils the sickly sweet smell of death as she scanned the field for any signs of movement.

_There._ It could be no other. Dark-haired and clad in mail and scarlet, a warrior was struggling up from the battle-strewn meadow, clutching at his arm and swaying weakly, but very much alive.

"Aramir!" she cried, and this time, she got a feeble wave in validation of her hopes. As he struggled to his feet, she rushed to him and flung her arms around his battered shoulders, ignoring the sweat and the blood that streaked his face. By Gale, but she never thought she'd be so glad to see anyone! Relief rushed through her as his tabard chafed her cheek. "You're a terrible farewell-giver, Aramir Ealion."

He painfully patted her back with one hand. "I could say the same for you."

Sighing with reassurance, she stood back, looking him over as he grimaced. He seemed to be favoring his left arm—"Oh—you're _hurt_!"

"It's not bad, not at all," he started, but Enna was no fool. The mail on his upper arm was damaged, and dark blood stained the cold metal rings. He had gotten a hard knock off of a Galmanian blade, that much Enna could tell, and his helmet and shield had been knocked away—Arondight was all that was left, and its hilt and part of its scabbard were covered with bloody handprints.

"Come along," she said to him, nodding towards the thin rows of gathering warriors. "You need taking care of."

He didn't argue, following her meekly back to the others, where Enna was glad to see Peter, sweaty and dirty but otherwise unharmed, conversing pleasantly with his siblings. By this point, Aramir was leaning heavily on Enna's shoulder, even more exhausted than she.

As they approached, a centaur with a rather scarred chest noticed Aramir's condition and kindly offered his arm to lean on, freeing Enna from Aramir's weight. She helped him off with his tabard and mail as soon as she was free, wincing when she found the tunic underneath the armor stained with blood.

"You're not suited for battle yet, youngling," said the centaur as Aramir wrenched his greaves and mail leggings off, grimacing.

"At least I tried," he groaned, throwing his good arm over his eyes.

Queen Lucy hurried to his side and dropped to her knees. "Oh, Aramir, you've been wounded!" she exclaimed. "'Tis a miracle you're still alive! I'm going to have to ask you to take off that shirt—Peter didn't let me bring my cordial, but I'm going to try and patch everyone up all the same."

Enna blinked at the queen's oddity, but helped Aramir free his bloody arm from his sleeve. The wound itself was rather disgusting, as the impact had left deep imprints of the mail in his flesh, along with tearing the arm open itself and leaving a dusky bruise around the edges of the cut.

The queen _tsk_ed sympathetically, unrolling a rough-looking cotton bandage. "Poor dear. It's your first wound, too, isn't it? Those are the worst." As she spoke, she gently bound his arm, ignoring his strained sounds of pain, and with the scraps did her best to clean up the residual blood. Enna tried to be angry with her for being so rash earlier, but at the sight of such consideration felt her annoyance melt away.

"Peter is going to make you a _knight_, you know," Queen Lucy whispered conspiratorially. "Edmund saw your bravery on the right flank, and we want to reward you for it."

Aramir blinked and looked at Enna. "I—I don't think—"

"Oh, here he comes," Lucy cut in, looking excited. "Sit up! Sit up!"

Enna looked over as Peter approached, his hand on Rhindon's hilt. "My royal brother tells me of your audacity, Aramir," he said, sitting on his heels. "I was impressed by what I heard."

Aramir's freckled face turned pink under the dirt, and he shook his head. "I just whacked away at whatever I could reach, sire."

"Nevertheless! It was brave whacking! And we Narnians like to reward bravery."

"Kneel! Kneel!" Queen Lucy urged, tugging on Aramir's good arm.

A bit bewildered, Aramir clambered to his knees and Peter stood, drawing Rhindon from its sheath. (It was very clean, Enna noted. He must have taken the time to clean it.)

"Very well," said Peter. "I hereby dub you, Aramir Ealion, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table." And he tapped Aramir's shoulders ever-so-lightly with the flat of his blade.

Lucy clapped. "Now I may officially call you 'Sir Aramir'!"

Grinning weakly, Aramir looked at Enna, who, a bit reluctantly, smiled back. It was a great honor for him, indeed, and she was proud, but…didn't _she_ deserve something? After all, it _was_ her idea to pin the army against the cliff, and she had killed many enemies, and even plunged into battle of her own will.

But she kept her mouth shut for the moment and concentrated on congratulating Aramir, who was beaming despite his pain.

_"You_ were awfully brave, too, Enna," Queen Lucy said. "My brother told me how angry he was at you, and I must apologize to you for it. It was entirely my fault. You tried very hard to keep me in line. She followed me into battle, Peter!"

Peter, who had begun to turn away, looked back with interest. "Enna did what?"

"I ran off from the archers," Lucy said matter-of-factly. "And Enna followed your commands, and chased me all the way to the battlefield."

"That was very foolish but very lucky of you," Peter said to both of them very sternly.

"She was thrown from her horse, and that was the last I saw of her until now." Queen Lucy shrugged. "I think Enna deserves at least a congratulations."

Enna lifted her chin. _"I_ think I deserve a knighthood, Peter."

Everyone in the near vicinity fell dead silent and gaped at her, but she ignored them. "I have proven myself, have I not? I suggested the tactics that won the day, and I convinced you to follow them. I was not perhaps so brave in battle as Aramir, but then award me with a lower knighthood."

Peter blinked. "Enna…in Narnia, women are not given knighthoods."

"And why not?" Queen Lucy challenged him, cutting across Enna's rebuttal. The young queen stood up and put her hands at her hips. "Why may women not become knights, Peter? Enna has certainly proven herself, I agree. Knight her."

"It isn't _done_," Peter protested.

"Oh, to balderdash with what is _done_," Queen Lucy retorted. "This is war, and unless you can come up with a suitable alternative for knighthood, you must repay your subject with gratitude, not 'it isn't done'."

Peter groaned. "All _right_, Lucy."

Aramir winked at Enna, and she knelt happily as Peter drew his sword. "I hereby dub _you_, Enwynna Aldenthew, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table."

Lucy clapped her hands, beaming. "Good! And now that you are done with her, I want you to observe me in the next battle and judge if _I_ am knighthood-worthy."

_"That_ I refuse to do," Peter retorted, and walked away.

Lucy shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by her brother's refusal. "Nevertheless. Peter is easy to win over—I shall convince him yet!"


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

_A/N: Okay, well, I guess Fanfiction doesn't want you guys to use the poll above our profile to vote for "Sea Rat"'s sequel's title. :P But I, Sushi, being the dauntless authoress that I am, made a special questionnaire just for you guys! Follow the link at the top of our profile and help my poor uncreative mind choose. ;D No hurry, because, obviously, "Sea Rat" isn't finished yet, but thanks in advance anyway!_

_PS: I have a feeling you guys have been waiting none-too-patiently for a chapter like this…so I hope you enjoy! ;D_

--

Enna thought that the Galmanians should not be allowed to retreat further south, but Peter was adamant about waiting until the next morning to make chase, and so the army returned to camp for the night. "Our people need rest," he had said, the Nymrunians nodding wisely at his words. "There is little damage the Galmanians may do between here and the River again, and I will not spend our strength in needless pursuit." Glad of their victory but battered and war-weary, the Narnians tended to their dead and wounded, leaving the Galmanian corpses to the birds of prey that would descend upon the field once all was calm.

The shadows of afternoon were growing long before the encampment finally quieted, the injured all looked after and the unhurt bathed and dressed. Many weary warriors sat quietly around blazing campfires, half-asleep with exhaustion and slowly sipping at wooden cups of honeybush tea as night fell and the moon, almost fully waxed, rose in the east, casting a soft bluish light over everything.

Queen Lucy was sitting on her cot, carefully mending Aramir's torn tunic when Enna came into their tent, her unruly hair damp from the cold brook water she'd recently washed it with.

"Good evening, Sir Enna," the girl teased, biting a bit of thread in half.

Enna smiled in response, checking the height of the candle in the lantern that swung from the tent ceiling. "What shall I be called, indeed, now that I am a knight?"

"Oh, I suppose we'll be able to go on calling you 'Enna,'" Lucy replied. "Although, I think that the official title is 'dame'. But that sounds too old for you."

"I'll say! Dame Aldenthew reminds me of a wrinkled old governess."

Lucy giggled gleefully. "It does! Oh, how cruel—I had a governess briefly. And she _was_ wrinkled!"

"I believe it is a requirement for the job," Enna laughed.

"Wrinkles and a propensity for appearing as though one spends one's hours sucking on lemons!"

The girls dissolved in laughter, both remembering past experiences with irascible old nurses. It physically hurt Enna to do so, the muscles across her abdomen contracting painfully and the tender scrape along her cheekbone stretching tightly as she grinned, but it was a welcome distraction from the echoes of clashing steel and battle cries that still rang in her ears.

Lucy wiped tears of mirth from her cheeks, still chuckling. "Oh, Enna. You _do_ divert!"

"I could say the same for you." Enna knelt down by Lucy's side, holding the bundle of soiled clothes that she'd lately exchanged for clean ones. "If you found a moment, do you think you could mend my skirt? I thought I would be able to, but I…it's very torn."

"Let me see." Lucy took the article from her and shook it out, touching the rough slashes that the Galmanian blades had left. "I might. Did these happen this morning?"

Enna nodded. "Aye."

Shaking her head, the young queen set the bundle aside. "I saw you speaking with Aramir earlier. What did he have to say?"

Enna sat on her own cot and began to detangle her thick hair, wincing as the comb hit snarls. "He was in too much pain to say much."

"But he _did_ say something," Lucy pressed.

Finding the queen's interest rather curious, Enna shrugged. "It was of little consequence." _To you._ Really, he had told her in his quiet yet direct way how shameful her conduct earlier that day had been. _"You are intelligent,"_ he had said. _"I should have thought that you would realize how improper it is to_ ask _for a knighthood._ _Perhaps you did deserve one, but your impudence speaks ill of your character."_

It stung, and she spared him no unpleasant words for it. But, oh—he was right. She _did_ have a terrible willful streak! The recollection of the hurt in his eyes made her stomach roil with regret: if only she had held her tongue.

_By Gale himself, I'll start now,_ she thought fiercely. _I'll conquer this flaw once and for all, before I get into trouble or hurt anyone else._

"I'm sorry for being so severe with you, Your Majesty," she burst out.

Lucy looked up at her, a bit startled. "Whatever are you going on about?"

"Earlier today—when you were being a bit careless, and I scolded you—I am dreadfully sorry."

The queen wrinkled her nose in thought for a moment, and then shrugged. "I didn't think you were unusually stern. Perhaps I needed it."

Enna opened her mouth to argue, but then remembered her oath and firmly shut it again.

"Have you eaten, Enna?" Lucy asked with a yawn a few minutes later.

"Aye."

"Well, then. It's growing late. I think we ought to retire, seeing as we are both fed and watered."

It didn't take much for Enna to convince herself to agree—she was very tired. But there were still things to be done before the morn, upon which Peter would rouse the army to another chase. "Aye, Your Majesty. You get ready for bed, and I will fill our flasks with water so they are ready upon our departure."

"Oh, would you?" Lucy said, stretching. "That's wonderfully kind."

Enna rummaged in the satchels near the tent flap. Lucy's obvious sleepiness was threatening to make her start yawning, too, and she told herself that once the four leather containers were full, she would go immediately to bed. And so, while the queen kicked off her boots and began dressing for bed, Enna went out of the tent, shivering in the cool night air, and followed the worn path out of camp and down the banks of the nearby creek that babbled around the camp and through the Pass.

The cold, moonlit water rushed over her hand as she knelt on the grassy edge, holding one of the three flasks under the surface. So far, she seemed to be doing well with not being argumentative—perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult, after all.

There was a soft footstep behind her, and she whirled around to see Peter sliding down the steep embankment, his boots crunching on the water-worn pebbles as he stooped at her side. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."

"It's all right."

The creek burbled as it rushed over and around Enna's hand, and a cool breeze rustled the newly budding branches of the trees over their heads, but neither spoke for a long while.

At long last, though, Peter stirred and sighed. "You displayed many strengths of character today, Enna."

Enna looked over at him, but he didn't look back at her right away, choosing instead to gaze across the water to the opposite bank. "How?"

"Well, I would never have expected you to be a military tactician, for one." He chuckled and took one of her empty flasks, uncorking it and dipping it into the water.

Enna smiled slightly. "I simply used common sense."

"A trait sadly lacking in many, I find," Peter sighed. "But all jokes aside, Enna, you certainly won the day for Narnia."

"Thank you." _Please don't mention the knighthood. Please don't mention the knighthood._

"And I would never have considered _asking_ for a knighthood, myself—that was very…revolutionary."

Enna winced, corking one flask and beginning to fill another. "I am _very_ sorry about that, Peter. It was highly impudent of me to demand such a thing."

"Perhaps," he said lightly, "but I take no offense from it."

_Well, that's all fine and good,_ Enna thought dryly, _but someday I will meet someone who_ does. _And what will I do then?_

Out loud, she said, "That's good."

Peter finished filling the flask and set it aside, drying his hands on his plain blue tunic. "That water is _frigid_."

"Aye," Enna admitted, her fingers feeling stiff and thick-jointed as she pulled the last flask from under the surface.

Peter took the things from her and slung them all over his shoulder as she dried her hands on her skirt. "Spring hasn't come to Narnia _just_ yet. When the brooks rush warm, winter's spell is broken."

"Aye. They are nowhere near warm!" Enna's hands were still red and swollen from the icy waters, and she tucked them under her arms with a weak grin.

Peter, noticing, tugged them free and held them in his big warm ones, chafing the soft skin of her wrists with his thumbs. "As I can tell."

Enna was a bit uncomfortable with this contact, but she didn't say anything, instead staring at the leather cord that tied his tunic together at the front.

Eventually, he released her hands, and they began walking together along the bank in the direction of camp, her boots making softer footsteps in the sparse grass than his.

"I won't lie, Enna," he said after a momentary pause. "I worried a great deal about you today."

"Why? To your knowledge, I was safe on the hillside." She looked over at him again as he ran a hand through his fair hair, for once unadorned by neither crown nor jewels.

As she watched, he shook his head a single time, rubbed at his jaw, dropped his hand to his side and readjusted the load on his shoulder. "Well…well, Enna, I…I suppose it's because I'm still in love with you."

Enna tripped on a protruding root and went sprawling on the ground, the shock of Peter's announcement surpassing the pain of the fall. But he was at her side in an instant, helping her up and looking very concerned as she breathlessly assured him that she was fine.

"Are you sure?" he asked once she was on her feet again.

"Aye."

Once he was certain she was telling the truth, they began walking again, but a bit less purposefully. Enna's palms stung and her pride even more so, but Peter's words rang in her ears—still in love with her? She hadn't even been aware that he had _loved_ her in the first place! He had hidden it so well all those long months…but what was she now to do? She certainly didn't love him back.

Peter stopped abruptly, catching Enna's hands in his. "Enna…"

She shook her head. "Peter—"

"Please, Enna," he implored. "Hear me out. I have gone months with not a word on this subject—give me just a few moments to explain myself."

Well, this _could_ be interesting. "All right," she said reluctantly.

He, heartened by her agreement, quickly deposited the flasks on the ground and took her hand again, his blue eyes earnest. "Enna…I have striven for so long to conquer my affections for you. Aslan told me it would be difficult, but I have found it _impossible._ You…you awaken such an ardor in me that I sometimes cannot sleep for the fervency of my emotions! Try as I might, I still cannot banish the hopes I harbor for…for perhaps sharing a future with you."

His impassioned words tore open the scars on Enna's conscience—she did not _wish_ to cause him this torment, but she could not ease it, either! "Peter," she said sternly, keeping her hands limp in his. "Peter, you _must_ know that I do not love you back. You are as dear to me as a brother, but I feel no…no such passion for you."

"I know." Peter's eyes flashed in the moonlight as he looked down at their hands.

"Then how can you say these things to me?"

"Because I still hope," he burst out. "Enna, give me but a chance! You have never had the true knowledge of what it is like, being a king's beloved—what we experienced together at Cair Paravel was but a facile _shadow_ of what love truly is."

"Remember, Peter, I do not love you!" Enna could not seem to get this fact through his golden-haired head!

"But therein lies the solution." His fiery blue eyes bored into hers, making her wriggle uncomfortably. "Enna, if you but grant me time, I will woo as no lover has wooed before. Let me _convince_ you, through no one's merit but my own, that I, Peter of Narnia, am the only man on this Earth worthy of your hand. Please, Enna—allow me this one opportunity."

Enna looked at him, biting her lip as she recalled the beastly suffocating feelings she'd experienced while he romanced her at Cair Paravel. She wanted to stand on her own two feet now! Be known as Enna Aldenthew, knight of Narnia, not 'the high king's lady'! But…Peter made a convincing argument for his case. Perhaps what she thought of as courtship had really only been as shallow as he said it was, and that _true_ courtship and love was infinitely better.

He squeezed her hands and waited patiently for her answer.

A thousand and one reasons why accepting his offer was foolish zipped through Enna's head, and she longed to voice them, make him face reality, but she, with a wince, recalled her vow. Here was the high king of Narnia, the young and handsome ruler of a vast and powerful nation, begging for permission to woo her tenderly. Who was such a girl as she to argue? Aslan, the great lion, must have changed his mind as to their relationship, or Peter would not be pressing so earnestly.

At long last, Enna reached a conclusion, and it was one that satisfied her practical side very nicely indeed, though her heart would have to grow accustomed to the idea. "Very well, Peter," she said, lightly squeezing his hands. "I will try." _I will._

His face lit up at her words, and he brought her hands to his lips. "You won't regret your decision, Enna, I swear."

She managed to give him a sincere, if brief, smile. "I don't doubt it."

"There. I have missed those smiles." He touched her chin with one hand, tilting her face up to his.

Enna almost recoiled at the contact but caught herself just in time. It would take a good deal of time to fight these dissatisfied feelings.

Peter noticed this and smiled apologetically, tracing the shape of her jaw. "We'll work on that."

His eyes were dwelling wistfully at a position on her face somewhat below her eyes, and Enna smiled knowingly. "Do you want to kiss me, Peter?"

He glanced briefly up into her eyes, giving a low chuckle. "Perhaps. Would you allow it?"

"I could, if you wished me to."

"I do."

That gentle confession had no right to make Enna's fingers tingle, but it did, and Peter brushed a single unruly curl back from her temple, tucking it behind her ear and playing with the other curls he found there. To her utter astonishment, Enna quickly found herself _wanting_ him to kiss her—he had always been so gentle and thorough about it before.

Responding to her slightly dazed smile, Peter touched the swell of her lower lip with his thumb. "Do _you_ wish me to?"

Breathlessly, Enna nodded. "I do…"

Peter's grin was fleeting, for he lowered his head the rest of the way to hers and kissed her softly.

Enna closed her eyes and returned the caress not unwillingly, a rush of adrenaline sending her heart a-flutter; her fingers flitted uncertainly about his strong jaw—to her surprise, she felt the rough scraping of a fresh beard. That hadn't been there before. How would he look with one?

Eventually, though, he pulled away, beaming. Enna cast desperately for something to say but he didn't seem fazed; rather, he bent and picked up the flasks that he'd deposited on the ground earlier, slinging them over his shoulder and slipping his other hand into hers, smiling all the while. Enna relaxed—there was nothing that needed to be said. She was the king's lady again, and, for the moment, she was happy.


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

_A/N: Wow, another quick update! I guess I must really appreciate you guys, or something. :) In other news, though, I just found out today that my SAT is not on March 30, like I thought, but rather on March 14! That's a lot closer than I expected! So I'll have to start taking free time to study for it, as well as the ACT on April 4. :( I should be able to update regularly anyway, but I doubt I'll be able to manage such quick ones. Sorreh, guys, but I guess that's what happens when one's a junior in high school…_

--

Thus, the army moved southward. Scouts, steadfast old hounds and sharp-eyed eagles, brought back word that the fleeing Galmanian army had apparently rejected their intention to capture Beruna and were now on the Plains, much to Peter and Edmund's relief. The River, Narnia's most precious possession, was yet theirs.

They once again crossed the wide waterway, the water considerably less icy than it had been those two weeks ago when first they had forded it. The landscape began to change once they were west of it; what had once been soaring ridges and sharp-faced cliffs now smoothed out into grassy plains and the occasional lazy hill. Enna, from her place on Peter's tall horse, could see for miles when the creature came to the top of one of these green hummocks, and it looked to her as a great waving ocean, broken only at times by mossy boulders and a few deer.

March had come in like a lion, but it went out as a lamb, and as April quickly approached, the plains burst forth in a myriad of wildflowers. Enna admired the cheery little things, and never once was in want of one, for Peter made sure she was always well supplied with the freshest and brightest blossoms that he could find. The Narnian army rejoiced greatly at the coming of spring and the renewal of their king's courtship, and the elation carried them through another two weeks of mundane wandering.

Night was falling on the fifteenth day after the battle at Lithil Downs when a scout, a griffin with wings as long as Enna was tall, circled overhead and alighted on a boulder, rasping for the attention of Narnia's leaders.

"My lords and ladies! I bring news of Galma."

Orieus held up a commanding hand and the army came to a clattering halt behind them.

"Speak, good sir Anastus," Peter called out, his arms tightening around Enna's waist as he reined his horse in to a halt.

The griffin's wings stretched and fluttered as they caught a gust of wind, but the creature remained earthbound for the time being. "I have come across their camp, sire, about fifteen minutes' flight from here. Fires were springing up as I circled above, and I believe that they are intending to sojourn there for the night."

"Were you seen?" King Edmund asked.

"Nay, sire, I do not think."

"Excellent. Tell me, Anastus, of the land."

Anastus' tail swept the boulder impatiently, but he replied, "They are settled in a lowland, sire, as Galmanians are wont to do—Galthera Glen, I have heard it called. They think that they will not be seen. But," he added proudly, "they did not figure on myself."

"Well done, good sir," Queen Lucy put in.

Peter nodded. "Aye, very well done. Do you think, Anastus, that we will be able to engage them in the morning?"

"Aye, sire, if you are not seen."

"Then we must strategize carefully. Thank you, sir, for your eyes and your wings—you are free to do as you wish. Goodnight."

Anastus bowed low. "I bid Your Majesties and Excellencies a very good sleep. May the Lion always breathe mercifully upon you."

"Goodnight, Anastus," Lucy called cheerfully as the griffin spread its wings and took to the air.

"What does Your Majesty desire?" asked Lord Lorendo, nudging his horse up beside Peter's.

"What does Your Excellency suggest?"

Enna, who had been listening quietly up to this point, turned slightly around to catch Peter in her glimpse as well as Lorendo. "Might I propose an idea?"

She heard Peter's hesitancy in his reply: "I suppose it couldn't hurt."

"I suggest," she said slowly, the idea still coming together in her mind as she spoke, "that we, instead of descending upon the enemy ourselves, bait the enemy to descend upon _us_."

"I don't understand," Queen Lucy said. Peter and Edmund shushed her.

"What I mean is, if we initiate the attack," Enna replied, "we must fight wherever the enemy is. If _they_ are somehow enticed into attacking _us_, we may choose the location."

"I follow," said Lorendo.

"Therefore, we position ourselves on our ideal battleground, such as…such as on the high ground, and then sting Galma into attacking _us_. Rather than vice versa. That way, we get our fight _and_ the advantage."

"I see," said King Edmund. "I do believe it wise, brother. Anastus said that Galma is at Galthera—there is a flat-topped hill there, if I recall correctly. Could we not camp there for the night, and then, in the morning, let ourselves be 'accidentally' discovered by their scouts?"

"Hmm," Peter replied, his breath brushing Enna's ear. "You're right. It shall be as you say. Oreius, kindly command the army to proceed with all caution and as much silence as can be managed—we do not want our tactic uncovered prematurely."

Lucy kicked her tired horse to Peter's side, her long brown hair bouncing gleefully as the army began to move forward again. "Oh, Peter—you _will_ let me fight this time, won't you?"

"Most certainly not, Lucy!"

"Well, then," retorted the young queen, "I'll do it without your consent."

"You'll do no such thing."

"Oh, I shall!"

"If I have to clap you in chains, I will, Lucy!"

"Then I shall bite through them," Lucy replied stubbornly. "I'll gnaw off my hands and feet to fight for Narnia, if it comes to that."

"You are one bloody-minded little girl."

"I'm not little, Peter! Need I remind you that King Lune approached you for my hand in marriage to his son Corin last summer?"

"Aye. And Corin was scarcely eight years old at the time—hardly a measure of your worldly experience."

Enna hid a grin.

Queen Lucy huffed indignantly, lifting her nose into the air. "I demand that you agree to let me fight for my country."

Peter looked to King Edmund for support, but the young king simply shrugged helplessly. "Lucy…"

"Enna knows how well I can fight!" Queen Lucy insisted, pointing to her. "Tell him, Enna."

"Well," Enna wavered—the girl _did_ know her way around a battlefield, that much was sure. "Aye, Peter, I think she makes a reasonable request. At least give her your consent, so that she might be properly prepared and outfitted. You know she will make her way onto the field, either way."

Peter sighed and put his forehead on her shoulder briefly. "I cannot refuse _both_ of you. Very well, Lucy, you may have your wish."

Lucy beamed happily. "Oh, thank you, Peter, thank you, Enna!"

"But if you are hurt or killed," Peter called after her as she turned her horse to go and tell the Nymrunians the good news, "I shall personally tie your hands to your feet and have you _carried_ the rest of the way!"

Queen Lucy's unfazed laughter echoed out over the plains, and Peter sighed in Enna's ear. "I'll regret this."

"Aye, but she is happy now."

They rode along in silence for a few minutes before Peter spoke again. "Enna, I wish that _you_ wouldn't be as foolish as she, and stay behind while the trained soldiers wage battle."

Enna gasped and turned so fast to look at him in the saddle that her elbow collided with his stomach. "Peter, I'm a _knight!_ I refuse to be cast aside."

Groaning, Peter rubbed at the ache she'd left. "Fine. It was worth an attempt."

"Hardly. You know I would have refused."

"Perhaps. But at least now I can say I tried. Now go on, turn around, I can't see where we're going."

Enna snorted and obeyed, and one of his arms wrapped tightly around her in response. (It didn't make her feel half as snug as usual, for he was well armored and his chain mail sleeves were hard and unforgiving.)

At long last, the glint of campfires over the ridge caught everyone's attention, and the army proceeded with a silence that startled Enna.

"This is where we shall camp," King Edmund whispered to someone, and the horses came to a soft, jingling stop. Spread out in the glen below were hundreds of campfires, flickering softly in the night air, dark forms huddled around them.

Peter released Enna and dismounted softly, holding out his arms and lifting her gently to the ground. "Sleep well, love," he whispered against her cheek, kissing the scar left by his pauldron those many weeks before. "I shall not see you again tonight, I think—they are already setting up your tent. But we shall wake early to engage the enemy. Make sure my sister retires on time."

"Aye, Peter."

He bent his head to hers and kissed her goodnight, then squeezed her hand once and led the frothy horse off, doubtless to open the battle maps and pore over them until the late hours of the night, planning every detail of the next morning's assault.

"I hear you made the king's strategy for him again," came Aramir's voice from behind her.

Enna turned, smiling at the sight of him. "Aye. He and King Edmund say I have a head for strategy."

"I'm glad for you. They allowed you to fight tomorrow, I assume?"

"Aye."

Aramir's horse tossed its head, and he stroked its nose. "You ought to be careful."

"I will, I promise." Enna watched him for another moment, observing the tired lines under his eyes. "You look exhausted. Is something bothering you?"

"No."

"There _is_. What is it? You're not ill, are you?"

"No, I'm not ill. And nothing's wrong."

"You seem unsettled."

Aramir blew an impatient breath, much like his horse. "Enna…ever since you told me that vow you made, I…I have been troubled."

Enna frowned, pushing her plait off of her shoulder. "Why, whatever for? You told me it was a good vow to make."

"Yes, but…" Aramir sighed with frustration. "I cannot help but think…that you have made a mistake, falling in with King Peter again."

Immediately, Enna's hackles rose. "How—how dare you!" she sputtered angrily, barely keeping her voice at a whisper.

"Listen, Enna," he pleaded. "There is a difference—a very big difference—between being a peace-monger and a walkover. You are trying to be a peace-monger, but you've become a walkover."

"A walkover!" Enna's temper flared dangerously, but she managed to get it under control just in time. "I am being no such thing, Aramir. I am doing nothing that I do not wish to." It was only a small lie, but it pricked annoyingly at her conscience.

Aramir shook his head. "I thought better of you, Enna…I really did."

With that, he led his horse away quietly, leaving Enna to fume in silence. How dare he say such inappropriate (and painfully accurate) things to her! Why—why—she would show him. Oh, yes, she would.

Now, if only she could banish those bothersome doubts…!


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

_A/N: Not much to say tonight, just reminding you to vote in our Wufoo poll (found at the top of our profile page) if you haven't yet! :D_

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In the morning, all went as planned. The army was awoken early, just as the sun was beginning to peek over the eastern horizon, and told to dismantle the tents and dress for battle. Sleepily, Enna and Lucy did as they were told, exchanging their decent-looking travel dresses for stained and frayed-hemmed ones and chain mail.

"I'm so excited to fight for Narnia again," Lucy yawned, cinching a belt at her waist and hooking her little dagger onto it.

Enna didn't answer. The thought of being involved in battle thrilled her, but what if she or Peter should be killed—or _Aramir_? If he was still disappointed in her, she had yet to give him a piece of her mind.

Outside the tent, the camp was collapsing in front of their very eyes, being packed away and set behind a mound of rock for guarding by a few sharp-toothed but sore-pawed hounds. Troops tiptoed into their positions, eating cold breakfasts for fear of their campfires being seen, and all was nearly as quiet as though they were not here.

King Edmund caught up with Enna and Lucy not long after they'd ventured outside. "The plans have been finalized," he whispered. "Would you like me to tell you?"

"Of course, Ed!" Lucy hissed.

"Very well. As soon as the Galmanians look to be ready to continue on their journey, Glauco the griffon will take to the skies and circle above their camp, making a great show of spotting them and returning to us. Once he has been noticed, we shall strike battle colors and come to the edge of this hill and make it seem as though we had just stumbled upon them. If all goes as planned, they shall amass their strength and attack us. We shall simply defend the hilltop."

"Aye, Ed, that's a very good plan," Queen Lucy said, rubbing her hands together with excitement.

"The archers, such as yourself, Lady Enna," King Edmund went on with a nod to her, "will take the main responsibility of repulsing their advance. Our winged soldiers will drop projectiles, as usual, and the Dwarfs have devised an ingenious plan of rolling boulders downhill, but we will rely mostly on your arrows."

Enna nodded, patting the leather belt that secured her quiver against her back.

"Now, eat something while there's still time," the king said. "Lucy, Peter wants you behind the archers—you will be with the swordsmen, but there is little to no chance of us actually utilizing that part of the army."

"Oh, fie," Lucy fretted. "How unfair!"

King Edmund shrugged. "Go on, now."

The two young women turned and managed to retrieve a few bits of cold chicken from their knapsacks before they were taken away, and they gnawed on these while wandering about what was left of camp.

"I told you Peter would let me fight, didn't I?" Lucy whispered archly, her mouth full of food.

"You did."

"He is quite easy to convince, don't you think?"

"Aye. Quite."

The queen swallowed her mouthful. "Excuse me a moment, Enna—I should like to speak briefly to Piretus before this all begins again."

Enna nodded, and Lucy scampered off, her mail jingling in time with each step. _If only I could be as thrilled about war!_ Enna thought woefully. _But I can only think about what will happen if I am killed. Where will they bury me? It'll have to be here on the Plains, won't it—we are too far from Cair Paravel. I should like to be buried at sea, like Papa. Forever dwelling under those tossing waves…_

Just as she came out of her reverie, Aramir passed by, and she bit her lip. As irked with his as she was, their people were on the brink of a battle, and she might never get a chance to make amends.

"Aramir," she said reluctantly.

He turned, his shield clattering against his mail. "Aye?"

She bit the inside of her lip so hard that she felt the metallic taste of blood on her tongue. "Well, erm…ah…I'm…I would like to a…to apologize for my conduct last night." _Even though it was legitimate._

Aramir gave a half-smile, as though he were slightly distracted. "Forgiven, Enna."

The relief at those two words took a load from Enna's shoulders that she hadn't realized she was there, and she smiled. "Thank you." _And…now it's his turn…_

He smiled again and turned to go.

"Wait—" she hissed.

Aramir turned back. "What?"

"Aren't you going to apologize to _me_?"

"Apologize?" Aramir looked flabbergasted. "Whatever for?

Enna's jaw dropped. "Whatever _for_? For insulting my character! For telling me that I made errors in my decisions!"

"Keep your voice down," he cautioned. "I did not insult your character. _Someone_ has got to tell you when you make a mistake, Enna, or you will never know when you make one. I'm trying to _help_—that's what friends are for."

"Friends do not call friends 'walkovers'," she retorted.

He shook his head. "Very well, Enna. I…at least I can say I made an attempt."

Enna fumed silently as he went on his way. Aramir was not her mother! What right did he have, telling her what was right and what was wrong?

"Is something the matter, love?" came Peter's voice in her ear.

She stiffened instinctively, then shook her head. "No. Nothing."

Sighing, he turned her to him and kissed her hand. "There's no need to worry about me—I'll be quite safe."

_It wasn't you I was worrying about,_ she thought darkly, but out loud said, "Oh, I have no doubt."

"Has my brother told you the plans?"

"Aye."

"The Galmanians are stirring in their camp, I have been told. I hope you're ready."

"I hope so, too."

He kissed her wrist and then her forehead, and Enna saw the noble-looking golden beard that was forming on his jaw. "Do not stand in the front lines, Enna. I don't know what I would do if you were killed."

"Well, this war would be over, for one," she replied teasingly.

Peter did not laugh. "Don't even joke about such a thing."

Chastened, she looked away.

Suddenly, there was a flutter of wings, and a tawny-coated griffin took to the sky above the army's heads. Peter pulled away from Enna, shielding his eyes against the rising sun as he watched. "I see it is time."

Enna bit her lip.

"Well, goodbye, then," he said, and placed a light kiss on her mouth before hurrying away. Enna wiped away the moisture that his lips had left on hers with her sleeve, adjusting her quiver on her back and straightening her shoulders.

A shout went up from the valley below them, and she closed her eyes briefly against the sudden flurry of activity that burst in the camp as Narnians took their positions.

"Lady Enna, you must go to the archers," a passing centaur admonished, pushing her in the general direction of the outfit.

"Aye, I must," she replied breathlessly and went where she was told. There, the Narnian archers were gathered close together in long, neat columns, gripping their bows and looking grim. From the valley came a distinctive lowing, groaning blast of noise, the sound of a Galmanian battle horn.

"Strike the colors!" cried an eagle circling overhead.

At its command, Narnians that had been holding the scarlet banners low, almost touching the ground, hoisted them high and proudly into the air to tumultuous cheering from the scarlet-clad host clustering atop the hill.

Enna could not see what was happening in the glen below, but she heard the sounds of hooves as King Edmund galloped past, his sword gleaming in the sun. "Ready, archers!" the young boy cried out.

Piretus the faun saluted his king smartly and turned to the archers. Enna scrambled to get her bow and an arrow from her quiver as he took a breath to command them: "Aim!"

As if they all shared one mind, the archers lifted their bows high towards the bloody sky of morning, higher than usual, and drew the strings taught. Enna's hand trembled as she held the string against her chin.

"Fire!"

The hissing of arrows filled the air, and a moment later, a few distant shrieks as the sharp darts found their marks. Enna was glad she couldn't see the outcome of her shot, as she had been forced to at Lithil Downs, for she didn't think she could stand to see another Galmanian die.

"Aim!"

Griffins and eagles careened overhead, their thick talons gripping boulders that were eventually thrown down into the glen. As she watched, one eagle banked steeply to avoid a Galmanian arrow and lost its grip on the stone it had been carrying; it plummeted to earth near the Narnian foot soldiers, sending a whole division fleeing for their lives.

"Fire!"

The string of Enna's bow caught a lock of her hair as she released it, tossing the curl into her face. A deep rumble betokened the Dwarfs hard at work, digging up boulders to roll down the hillside into the seething masses of enemy soldiers streaming at the foot of the hill.

"They have gained the slope!" came a strained cry from the vanguard. A ripple of fear rushed through Enna's unit—their onslaught had done little to prevent the opposition from reaching the hill.

"Fire at will!"

King Edmund's horse galloped past again, and his agitated expression was not lost on Enna, whose mind immediately sprang into action despite the steady whistle of arrows overhead. If the Galmanians were scaling the hill despite the Narnians' arrows, then there was no point in continuing that offensive. The enemy would have to be swept off the slope somehow.

An idea formed in Enna's head. It was a foolish one, but it could work…in theory.

When Edmund cantered by again, Enna leapt out from the ranks and waved for him to stop. His horse's mouth frothing, he reluctantly reined it in, panting almost as hard as the beast itself. "Enna, are you _crazy_? You'll get yourself killed!"

"I have an idea!"

"An idea? _Now_? When the enemy is streaming at our gates?"

"That's what the idea is _for_!"

A brief moment of indecision crossed the young king's face, but he reluctantly nodded. "Fine, then. Peter is in back—follow me. _Hyah_!"

He kicked his horse into a canter away from the front lines and Enna followed, tripping over her skirts in her haste. She had to think of some way to present her idea without making it seem as rash as it really was—perhaps she could flutter her eyes at Peter. _He_, of course, would be easy to win over, but what about his brother and the commanders?

Peter stood up at their approach, nearly knocking over his chair. "Is something wrong?" he said loudly to his brother, but looking at her.

"I have a suggestion," Enna panted, clutching the stitch in her side.

"Speak it, then, and quickly!"

"We must repel the Galmanians—from the hill," she breathed. "Our arrows aren't doing enough. I have heard you say before that desperate—times call for desperate measures."

"And you are proposing a desperate measure."

Enna clung to the back of a chair for support, gulping air as she nodded. "Aye. I propose a downhill charge—strike right at the enemy's center, and split him in two as we simultaneously force them back."

"That is foolhardy!" Peter cried, gesturing at the flurry of arrows and movement that was the front lines. "Do you wish for all your people to _die_?"

"They will not die if the attack is carried out properly," Enna countered. "Besides—wouldn't you rather have them die doing something worthwhile than standing here in a bunch and shooting arrows blindly?"

Peter leaned on the cartography table, his head between his shoulders. "I cannot argue with you."

"Then it will be done?"

"It will be done as you say."

Enna's heart gave a twinge of impatience with Peter's mindless agreement, but she nodded briskly. "Very well."

"Edmund, come here!" Peter bellowed, motioning for his brother.

King Edmund spurred his snorting horse over to the scarlet tent, stopping the sweating beast just a few yards shy of the table. "What is it?"

"Organize a charge," Peter said.

"A _what_?"

"You heard me! I want a downhill charge—all sword-bearing Narnians assembled in one concentrated mass, three rows deep and as many columns long as needed. Sweep the Galmanians off the hill—strike with all your might. I want the archers standing by to fire upon the rear."

"But Peter, that's foolhard—"

"Follow my commands, Edmund," Peter roared. "With all haste!"

Screwing up his face in anger, Edmund wheeled his horse around and spurred it towards the front to relay Peter's orders to the commanders.

"You had better pray this works, Enna," Peter sighed.

She put her shoulders back. "If all goes as planned, it will."

"Good. Now, will you stay back?"

"Peter, I will _not_ stay back. I am a Narnian archer, and I shall fight as one." Without waiting for him to object, Enna spun on her heel and ran back to her division, now being moved aside to make room for the growing throng of gleaming-sworded foot soldiers. Being placed in the far back by her brother she saw a disgruntled-looking Queen Lucy.

A sudden dismay seized Enna then—she had forgotten that Peter had allowed the young girl to participate in any of the battle's infantry movements. Oh, if she had only remembered, she would not have pressed for her suggestion to be taken!

Before she could make a move to somehow pull the queen from the ranks or change Peter's mind, Oreius blew a long blast on his horn, and with a mighty roar, the Narnians rushed down the hillside like a river let loose from its dam.

Enna turned away.

"Aim for the rear!" Piretus bellowed, his thin, goaty voice rising above the clash of battle. Enna, with great reluctance, lifted her bow high in the air, praying the gradient was accurate.

"Fire at will!"

The arrows screamed from the bows, sailing out beyond the lip of the hill and disappearing. Trembling with apprehension, Enna fitted another to her bow and let it loose, the string cutting into her chilled fingers. A red-fletched Galmanian arrow struck a griffin overhead, and its shriek of pain threatened to break Enna's already wavering concentration. Arrows sang out to her left and Edmund's horse thundered by on her right, and her breath came shorter and shorter—how was the assault faring? She was blind to the progress!

A splotch of bright red blood landed on her hand just as she drew the bowstring taught again; she looked up into the cloudy sky to see the griffin, the arrow stuck in the juncture of its back knee, wheel upside down in midair to avoid yet another dart.

King Edmund's horse thundered past one last time, and then, unexpectedly, a cheer rose up. A Narnian cheer!

"The Galmanians have raised the flag of armistice! Armistice!" came the gleeful cry.

"They have requested a treaty?" gasped the archers near Enna.

She closed her eyes and let the jubilant sounds wash over her, taking a deep breath. They had not only beaten them back, they had beaten them back _into submission_! The clash of battle had died away, and now all that was left was the cheering of the valiant Narnians. _The war is over._

A horse's footsteps were heard, and Peter, now wearing his crown, rode out through the crowds to tumultuous hurrahs and the unique calls of all of Narnia's creatures—the eagles overhead did dizzying spirals in midair, their triumphant shrieks echoing across the wide Narnian plains. There was, on the near edge of the cliff, a figure that Enna had not noticed before—a Son of Adam, dressed in Galmanian leather armor, kneeling humbly at Peter's horse's feet, flanked by two exceptionally fierce-seeming centaurs.

"Speak your business," Peter said over the roar of the Narnians.

They hushed immediately.

"I come in the name of His Lordship Naval General Stalresin, Duke of Anwit, and Honored Knight of the Marinal Order," said the Galmanian.

"As I can well gather. What have you to say on his behalf?"

The soldier swallowed visibly, glancing around. Enna tried to melt into the crowds, but she was certain he saw her. "My lord duke extends the hand of peace to his formidable Narnian opponents."

"Go on."

"He requests that a parley of treaties be held today, in the interest of ending this war before any more Galmanian—or Narnian—lives are lost."

"Then he does not surrender?"

"Nay."

"Very well, then. A parley of treaties shall be held in no less than an hour, here, under our terms."

The soldier wavered, but under the steady glare of the Narnian host, acquiesced. "Aye, sire. It shall be as you have commanded."

"Then you are dismissed."

Bowing once more, the soldier straightened and hurried down the hill, casting a frightened look at the horrid beasts that made up the Narnian army. Once again, the scarlet-clad soldiers raised a vociferous hurrah, and Peter grinned.

But no one smiled as broadly as Enna—at last, long last, she was _free._


	40. Chapter Forty

_A/N: Phew! Sorry that took so long! It's been crazy here in Sushiland. :P Anyway, just reminding you guys to vote in our Wufoo poll if you haven't already, and enjoy this chapter!_

--

"I understand completely if you don't wish to go."

"No—I _do_ wish to. I want to see him grovel."

Peter sighed, running his hands through his fair hair. "Enna, I'm not so sure that it's a good idea for you to—"

"Peter, I _want_ this," Enna replied forcefully, taking a step forward. "I want him to see me, and to know that he has _lost_ me."

"Very well. If you insist."

Enna crossed her arms. "Thank you."

Peter brushed a few crumbs of dirt from the front of his tabard and they scattered to the floor, getting lost among the blades of grass. "I'm going to go see to the construction of the parley tent. Try to rest your nerves a bit."

"All right."

He spared her a glance before brushing aside the tent flap and striding out into the sunlight, leaving her alone. Sighing, she lowered herself to her cot, her back to the entrance, and listened to the bustle of activity outside the canvas walls. The Narnians were so ecstatic over the parley—but she, now that her initial exuberance had worn off, was beginning to wonder. Why would her uncle, so underhanded and no less stubborn than she, suddenly offer the hand of peace? It was so unlike him. What could the _real_ reason for this sudden change of heart be? Had he given up on her? The thought initially thrilled her, then stung briefly. As much as she despised him, as much pain as he had caused her, he _was_ her kin, and had, at least for the first half of her life, treated her with love. The idea that the kind of close affection such as that between niece and uncle could be discarded so easily did not serve to boost her mood.

"I _must_ stop thinking like this," she muttered, standing so quickly that the blood rushed from her head. Silently, she took down her braid and brushed out the snarled curls, remembering when her mother would do such mind numbing tasks for her—she sang sad, ancient songs in complex, ancient tongues while Enna, mesmerized by her mother's soothing hands, sat still as stone.

That was before Sabsestrin had limited her bath time to a cursory ten minutes, of course.

As unpleasant as the memory was, it served to put Enna firmly back into the present, and her resolution to wash her hands of her uncle forever rushed back with a vengeance. Instead of re-braiding her long locks, such as she had done in Galma, she set her jaw and attempted to mimic the loose, very Narnian hairstyles that she had seen Queens Lucy and Susan sport. She wanted to look well cared-for and content, though not as regal as Peter perhaps would have wished—it would do no good to put on airs, not when a treaty was being crafted.

Enna gave up on that idea soon enough, and made do instead with the simple pinning that Naeomi had done on her unruly hair before the Great Snow Dance. It was plain, but definitely not Galmanian. "It will do, then," she said under her breath, blowing a stray curl off of her forehead.

Sighing, she turned around—only to see Aramir standing in the entry. A sudden desire to fling her arms around him again seized her, just as she caught her breath in surprise—he looked tired, and an angry red scratch marred the bridge of his nose, but he was calm, already changed from his battle garb to a plain brown tunic, Arondight strapped at his waist. "How long were you standing there?" she asked, pressing a hand to her pattering heart.

"Just…just a moment. I called your name, but you didn't answer."

"Oh. My apologies."

"No need. Doubtless you are preoccupied with your own matters."

Enna did not like how indifferent and falsely nonchalant their conversation was, but, try as she might, she could think of nothing to say to change it. "Aye. Very much so."

"I heard you proposed today's strategy, as well."

"Aye. But I could not see how it all panned out."

"Fairly well."

"We pushed them back."

"Aye. But it was at a cost."

"Oh, dear…"

"A slight cost."

"Still…"

"'Tis battle. There isn't anything a man can do to stop the shedding of blood under such circumstances."

"Very true."

Aramir cleared his throat, putting his hand on Arondight's hilt. "What do you think of the treaty?"

"I am relieved," she replied carefully.

The doe-eyed youth watched her, not unkindly. "It is a mixed blessing, is it not?"

"Perhaps…"

"Are you afraid? Afraid to meet him?"

Enna tossed her hair and told a blatant lie. "Of course not. I am…thrilled."

"I would be worried."

"I am not you."

"Thank the Lion for that."

Eyeing him sharply, Enna lifted her chin an inch. "Did you come here just to natter on in such a manner, or do you have a purpose?"

He stirred as if he'd forgotten. "No—no, I…I came in search of Peter. Is he here?"

"Not that I can see."

"Right, then. I'll leave you be."

He turned to go, and Enna would have let him walk away, but at the last moment, she thought of something. "Aramir?"

Aramir turned back, his dark hair lighting up as he stood under the cloudy sky. "Aye?"

"Will you…will you be at the parley?"

"No."

"Oh. I see. That's all."

"All right. Erm…goodbye."

"Goodbye."

He went away, and Enna sat back down on her cot as a moist breeze blew through the fluttering tent flap. She _wanted_ Aramir at her side while she watched Peter negotiate—she had a feeling he would keep a better rein on her tongue than any faun or dryad could. Besides: it was one thing, having one's lover nearby. It was another, much more comforting, thing to have one's dearest friend nearby.

"Enna?"

It was Peter at the flap this time. "Aye?"

"It's time."

Enna was on her feet in an instant, tripping over her hem. "I'm—I'm coming. Wait for me—"

"They're coming up the hill as we speak. Make haste…!"

"I'm making haste!" She stumbled after him as he strode purposefully through the camp, her heart pounding at a million miles an hour. This was it…Sabsestrin was a mere minute's walk away! Suddenly, she began to feel a good deal less courageous. "Peter…"

He glanced over his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Could we please have Aramir present? I think…I think he would like to witness this as much as I." Enna didn't know if that was completely true or not, but it didn't matter, for Peter was already preparing to say yes.

He sighed. "All right. Embla, fetch Aramir Ealion and bring him immediately to the parley tent."

The nearby dryad nodded. "Aye, sire."

"Thank you, Peter," Enna said quietly.

"You're welcome."

The parley tent, as Enna soon found out, was less of a tent and more of a simple awning stretched generously over a low table furnished with a stack of parchment and a few quill pens, surrounded by four chairs; the clammy breeze swept freely back and forth under it, ruffling the fur of the griffin and centaur that stood at attention next to the Narnian chairs. King Edmund sat in one, tossing a wadded bit of parchment up in the air and trying to balance it on his nose.

"Edmund!" Peter hissed.

King Edmund jumped and quickly hid the wad in his pocket. "Er, sorry—are we starting, then?"

"Aye! Any moment!"

Enna heard Aramir approach before she saw him. "You summoned me, sire?"

Peter glanced over at him. "Aye, Aramir—would you mind much standing by Enna during the negotiations? The sight of a Son of Adam with a sword at his waist might temper our adversaries' mercenariness a bit."

"Aye, sire."

"Thank you."

Enna hoped Aramir would understand—she was still cross with him, but her need for emotional support at this critical moment overshadowed any previous grievances. "Thank you, Aramir."

He smiled a slight, good-natured smile, and took his place beside her in the far corner of the awning. "I have little doubt that my brother is in that group we see coming towards us."

Indeed, Captain Minodaurus' tall, dark head was the first that Enna saw in the retinue of Galmanians approaching the tent. She shuddered inwardly at the memories that came crowding forth, but then quickly pushed them away, knowing that the ones Aramir was reliving were much worse than hers.

"Announcing, His Lordship Sabsestrin, Duke of Anwit and Honored Knight of the Marinal Order."

Enna felt both terror and disgust fill her body at the sound of her uncle's name—how dare he take on the title of duke! He must have ingratiated himself to King Helmin while she was away.

"Pretenses of royalty," she hissed to Aramir as the entourage came towards the tent. "We are not of noble stock, the Stalresins."

He said nothing, but put a bracing hand at her elbow—and for good reason. The Galmanian compeers bowed aside, and the two people she wanted to see _least of all_ approached the two waiting chairs. Aramir's hand tightened around her elbow, but she scarcely noticed: it was Minodaurus and her detestable, red-nosed, hollow-cheeked, scraggly-bearded Uncle Sabsestrin.

His narrow blue eyes cunningly scanned each and every nook and cranny of the parley tent. "Well met, my kings," he said, sweeping a low bow.

"Duke Sabsestrin," Peter said stiffly. "Will you not sit?"

As he motioned to the two seats across from him and King Edmund, Minodaurus caught sight of Enna and Aramir and quickly nudged Sabsestrin with his elbow. The breath caught in Enna's throat, and she took a step back, but it was too late—he had seen her. His eyes lit up when they connected with hers, and Enna's knees wobbled dangerously beneath her skirts. Aramir held onto her elbow with a firm grip, and she lifted her chin haughtily and looked pointedly away from her uncle.

"It would be a pleasure to meet you, sires," she heard him say, "were it under any other circumstances."

"Quite," Peter said with a dry snort.

"We have no desire for pleasantries," King Edmund put in firmly. "Let us negotiate our terms, and be done with it."

"Well spoken, my young sire," Minodaurus said sneeringly. Apparently, he had not forgotten the imagined ills wrought upon him and his crew by the four monarchs. Enna reached over and touched Aramir's hand briefly with her free one, trying to communicate encouragement without words.

"Our demands are simple," Peter began. "We wish for you, and all your people, to leave Narnia at once, and return to your island. You run the risk of having this war labeled—and treated—as a rebellion."

"Quite, sire," said Sabsestrin, leaning across the table. "Are those _all_ your demands?"

"Not all," King Edmund said quickly, just as Enna's heart began to pound with dread. "But that is our main one. What are yours?"

"We seek only one thing, my good kings."

"And that is?"

Sabsestrin smiled. "Only my dear niece, Enwynna Stalresin, bone of my bone, only surviving daughter of my dear, late, brother and his widow."

_Mother—!_ He had not said she was dead! Quickly, Enna glanced at Aramir, heartened, not realizing that Sabsestrin was watching her reactions closely.

"We refuse," said Peter. "Make any demands you wish, but _that_ one will never be granted."

"But that is the only thing we wish," Minodaurus said pleadingly.

"There must be something else."

The two Galmanians looked at each other, and Enna recognized the shrewd look in her uncle's eye. Thank Gale, he was considering something else! "Well, sire…perhaps there might be…"

"Well? Out with it, then!"

Sabsestrin chuckled, stroking his thin beard. "I suppose it is simple. Forgo the tariff on imported Narnian goods. Also…relinquish Galma from your executive control into the hands of her _most_ able king Helmin."

"You make harsh demands."

"Oh, that is not all, good sir king," Sabsestrin corrected. "Free the isle of Terebinthia from your immediate rule, and return her government to her rightful nobles. Also, we demand the payment of two thousand gilds in recompense for those valuable sailors lost in battle with your forces."

"That is too much," King Edmund said stubbornly. "You must lessen your price, or name us another benefit."

Sabsestrin sucked on his teeth for a moment. "Ah, sires…you drive hard bargains. But…I suppose I have one thing more to offer."

"Speak it."

"I, knowing the tender heart of my niece, convinced someone else to accompany me on my journey north to Narnia," Sabsestrin said with a smile.

Enna's heart began to pound, and Aramir squeezed her elbow.

"Who is it?"

"It is my dear wife, Ilsta Stalresin."

Enna choked on a breath. _"Mammata!_"

All seven heads in the parley tent swiveled to look at her, but she didn't care. Her mother, her dear, downtrodden mother, was here—and she had the power to free her from Sabsestrin's poisonous grasp! Oh, she could just imagine bringing her to Cair Paravel, and showing her the Great Sea, and seeing her old beauty return.

She smiled happily at Aramir, and then at Peter, who turned to Sabsestrin. "Agreed."

"Excellent! Shall we draw up the treaty, then?"

"Right away."

"She's coming, Aramir!" Enna whispered, almost blind with joy as the scratching of King Edmund's quill filled the space. "Oh, you will _love _my mother—she is so good."

Aramir grinned at her. "If she is anything like her daughter, she will be."

"Right, then. Are we agreed?"

"Agreed."

And, with a flourish of the pen, Sabsestrin signed the treaty, and Enna had to bit down hard on her tongue to keep it silent. "Ambar! Fetch me my wife. And make haste!"

"Aye, sire," said the soldier he'd addressed.

"Thank you, Peter," Enna said, her voice breaking with emotion. "You…"

He nodded slightly, and looked back as someone shouted, "Make way for the duchess!"

Enna ran from beneath the awning, looking for the ivory-skinned woman with flowing flaxen hair and dancing brown eyes that she called Mother. "Oh, Aramir, you will lo…"

She trailed off as Ambar returned, half-carrying a woman that looked as though she were made of bones and a bit of flesh. _That is not my Mammata_. This woman was ancient, sunburned, weather-beaten, and clad in a dirty peasant's dress, her yellow hair long but snarled and dirty.

"This is not my mother," Enna said loudly, her blood running ice cold. "This woman looks nothing like…"

"Little larkspur," cried the woman in a weak voice, stumbling as Ambar pushed her forward. "Oh, Enwynna…do you not recognize your own kin?"

And then Enna knew. "Oh, Mammata—!" she croaked. Emotion threatened to overcome her, and she ran to her mother's side just as she pitched forward. Her body was like straws in Enna's arms—but it was her mother. "Mammata!"

Her mother burst into tears and struggled to sit up, tugging Enna close with her suddenly strong arms. "Oh, my little larkspur…I thought I'd never live to see you again!"

Enna could feel the damp grass soaking through her skirts as she sat crumpled on the ground, but she hid her face in her mother's shoulder, fighting back the tears. It had been a year, at least, since she had been held in her arms, and though the older woman's flesh felt hot against her forehead, she clung tightly to her.

Her mother's hands, though weak, stroked her hair, and she kissed her forehead, trying to speak but only mouthing senseless words.

It did not take long for Enna to feel more that she was holding her mother, cradling her, instead of the other way around. What had happened to the Mammata of her youth? A red-cheeked and white-skinned gentlewoman, finely bred and well loved by all, Ilsta had been. But now, she was shriveled and wrinkled, yellow with jaundice and hollow-eyed with hunger. As she looked up at Enna, their places of protector and protected so drastically reversed, the younger woman felt the hot burn of rage ignite in her chest.

"What have you _done_ to her?"

Her voice rang out, challenging the skimpy-bearded man who stood nearby for the first time.

"Done?" Sabsestrin said, sounding shocked. "I have done nothing!"

"You liar!" Enna snarled. "She is but a wraith—a mere shadow of Ilsta Stalresin!"

"There…was a famine, on Galma," Mammatta whispered, struggling to sit up.

"Aye! A great, great famine," Minodaurus chimed in.

"You liar." This time, it was Aramir who spoke, stepping forward with blazing brown eyes, his broad shoulders thrust back. "There has been no famine. You and your men are fit as pigs, while this good woman emaciates in your presence."

"I shall not tolerate such insolence from my infant kin," Minodaurus said to Sabsestrin in a low voice, but loud enough for everyone to hear clearly.

"By the lion, you shall, Argo!" Aramir spat. "I am your brother no longer."

"No longer?" Captain Minodaurus laughed. "How can you not be?"

"By my choice and the favor of the lion Aslan, that is how. Straightway—Narnia demands explanation of your loathsome treatment of the Duchess Sabsestrin."

"Foolish boy," Sabsestrin laughed. Enna's rage was only fanned into leaping higher at the sight of those white teeth, leering at Aramir as they had once leered at her.

"Foolish _man_," she shot back.

"Enna, dear…"

"Mammatta, try to rest."

"Aramir," King Edmund said warningly as Aramir's hand twitched toward Arondight. Enna saw the fire of battle in the youth's dark eyes, but she made no move to soothe his anger, feeling her own intensify by the moment.

"That woman is of no royal blood," Minodaurus replied calmly. "That is simple enough to see. Look upon her, boy. She is hardly worth the effort to turn your head. Daughter and mother alike, eh?"

In a moment, Aramir had drawn Arondight and was nearly upon his brother, and it took both King Edmund and Peter to drag him away by the jerkin, red-faced and struggling mightily.

"Treachery!" Sabsestrin bawled, his eyes bugging out as he scrambled to draw his short broadsword. "Treachery! To arms, men! We will have nothing of these Narnian renegades!"

"Then we will have nothing of your treaty!" King Edmund bellowed, and tore the document in two.

The sound seemed to echo in Enna's ears, and she stared at the destroyed pile of scraps, Mammatta trembling in her arms as a few sprinkles of rain began falling from the sky.

"Very well," Sabsestrin growled. "You have lost your chance, wooden-headed barbarian brats. I shall not offer you such an opportunity again! Galma shall win the day in the end."

"We shall see," Aramir said sharply, still struggling against Peter's iron grip. "Now begone, before the wrath of the lion is unleashed!"

"Forget the duchess," Minodaurus snapped as Ambar approached Enna. "We shall claim our due soon enough."

Enna did not relax her grip on her mother until the last echoes of the Galmanian host had faded away, and someone began tugging at her hands. It was Glenstorm the centaur, wise and wrinkled, gathering Mammatta up into his strong arms.

"She needs medical treatment, my lady," he said when Enna kicked and prepared to put up a fight. "She must be cared for."

And so, defeated at last, Enna opened her arms and let him bear her mother out of them; it felt as though she were being torn apart, piece by piece, limb by limb.

So she was _not_ free, after all.


	41. Chapter Forty One

_A/N: Meh, this chapter's kind of short. Sorry! But it was quick in coming, and it got my point across, so I'm happy. :) In other news, we have an ETC in sight! (That's Sushi-speak for "Estimated Time of Completion.") I'm aiming to have "Sea Rat" done and its sequel begun on or before April 19 of this year (my birthday, actually!). So keep me on task! ;D_

--

It was nightfall the next day on the rain-swept plains before the Narnian camp regained a sense of composure. Wild, wet winds buffeted the re-erected tents, howling over the flat grasslands, driving black thunderclouds across the darkening sky.

The weather matched Enna's mood nearly exactly, and she silently watched the shadow of raindrops dripping down the tent walls as the light of day gradually faded. Her mother, bundled tightly in thick blankets, shivered unknowingly despite the warmth, caught up in fitful sleep. Enna sat by her cot, playing with a corner of her cloak, her hair rebelling against the sudden humidity and lack of attention.

The Narnians had been so good to Mammata, giving the poor, ill woman weak broth and the tenderest care they could afford. Peter had agreed to delay the pursuit of the Galmanian army until the next day, even. Even now, as Enna sat uselessly by her mother's side, he was busy mapping out his strategies.

She felt a slight twinge of disgruntlement—he had not even come to meet Mammata while she was still awake. Aramir—even King Edmund!—had spent long hours sitting by them, listening to Mammata's halting, hard-to-follow stories and in turn telling what experiences they and Enna had shared at Cair Paravel. When she, at last, had slipped into fevered sleep around five o'clock the first day, Aramir had remained quietly by Enna's side for a few more moments until King Edmund poked his head in and informed him that it was his turn for the watch. He had returned the next day, but looked so weary that she sent him off to bed early.

Thus, it was nearly seven o'clock, and Enna was alone with her thoughts. Glenstorm and his dryad apprentice had given Mammata herbs and teas and broths throughout the course of the two days, but when her feeble, drained condition only worsened, they had set aside their medicines with grim expressions.

"She is too spent," Glenstorm had said, his broad centaur's shoulders stooped with deference. "The illness has ravaged her body beyond the assistance of our physic."

Enna nodded. "So does this mean…she is dying?"

Glenstorm lowered his head. "Unless she survives the night, I fear so, milady."

Enna sighed. "I see. Thank you for your help, Glenstorm."

And he had retreated, leaving Enna to herself.

The tent flap was drawn aside quietly, and Enna turned to see Aramir duck in from out of the rain, his dark hair glistening in the lamplight. "Is she any better?" he asked softly.

Enna shook her head as he came to sit by her side. "She is sleeping much." So saying, she slipped her hand into the older woman's shriveled one, causing her to stir.

"Larkspur…"

"Hush, Mammata. You must rest."

Aramir got the flask of lukewarm water from nearby and uncorked it, holding it to Mammata's lips. She took only a few sips before turning her head away, and he looked gravely at Enna.

Enna said nothing, could only look at her once-beautiful Mammata. Was this what it had come to, then? The protector had become the protected, the weak become the strong.

Aramir nudged her. "Enna…"

"What?" She looked up to see Peter standing in the entry, his hands knotted behind his back. "Oh, hello, Peter…I did not notice you come in."

"Who is Peter?" Mammata whispered as she heard Peter's footsteps come closer to her bedside.

"I am the high king of Narnia, good lady," Peter responded before Enna got a chance to, kneeling on Enna's right.

"The king…why do you call him by his given name, daughter?"

"I have asked her to do so, my lady."

Mammata swallowed with obvious pain. "And why is that, my liege?"

Peter looked at Enna, who in turn looked away. "Because, madam, I am quite enamored with her."

"Peter…"

"Marry him, daughter," said Mammata weakly, motioning vaguely. (Enna did not quite see where to, for she was gazing at the ceiling of the tent, burning with mortification.)

Thankfully, she was spared the discomfiture of telling her mother—and Peter, for that matter—that she was nowhere near wanting to marry him, because a distraction in the form of Queen Lucy came into the tent.

"Peter, Su has sent us a dispatch from Cair."

Apologetically, Peter looked at the other three and nodded. "I must go…farewell, my lady Stalresin."

"Farewell," Mammata sighed, her papery eyelids fluttering closed.

Enna carefully pulled the blankets up higher, tucking them gently around her mother's shoulders. "Try to rest, Mammata. Save your energy."

Mammata nodded, and Enna kissed her pale cheek, the older woman's withered lips fluttering uselessly against her own face. Aramir reached out and squeezed her hand, and the three fell into silence.

Gradually, as night wore on, Enna noticed a slowing of her mother's breathing. Oh, thank Gale—she was finally sleeping soundly. Her eyes burned with lack of sleep, but relief flooded her body. Mammata would live to see Cair Paravel!

But then, slowly and gently, the breaths came fewer and farther apart, until, at long last, they finally stopped. It was as uneventful a death as death can be.

A strange flutter ran through the tent's surviving occupants when they realized what had just happened. Aramir sat up a bit straighter, running his hand through his hair, and Enna stared unseeingly at what had once been her mother. She was now an orphan. Her last solid rock, her last place of safety in the swirling sea of life, had gone for good.

She realized after a few minutes that there were more people in the tent than there had been before: Glenstorm was packing up his medicines, a faun was clearing away the extra linens, and someone had pulled a blanket up over Mammata's face, but Aramir was still at her side.

"What will you do with her?" Enna thought her voice sounded awfully loud in the silence.

"Upon daylight tomorrow," Glenstorm said quietly, "she will be buried."

"I see. And must I observe?"

"If you do not wish it."

"I do not." Enna stood up, taking her cloak with her, and strode out of the hot and stuffy tent into the damp, cool night air. The breezes slapped at her burning cheeks, stole her breath and tossed it out of her mouth as mist, and sent it wafting up towards the fully waxed moon.

_The rain will have coaxed Spring out from her hiding,_ Enna thought, striding to the edge of the hill where, in the valley below, there were still remnants of the former day's battle. _I suppose they will bury her down there. How fitting, that she be laid to rest in ground that holds both the blood of her saviors and her kinsmen._

"Enna…"

She turned partway to see Aramir approach. "Aye?"

"Are you…"

"I'm quite well," she replied firmly.

He put his hands behind his back, gazing out upon the abandoned glen below them. "Then, you have no…regrets?"

"Regrets?" Enna turned to look at him. "About rescuing my mother? Never. She is dead now, yes, but she died warm and well cared-for. 'Tis better than I can say my uncle would have done."

"You bear her resemblance, you know."

Enna gave a laugh of derision. "You would not have said that, had you seen my mother in Galma. She may look like me when she bears the resemblance of a peasant."

"You have her eyes."

Enna lifted her chin and looked out upon Galthera Glen again. How many times had she been told that? Too often to count. "I have always thought I resembled my father."

"Nay…you share too many similarities with your mother to strongly resemble your sire, though I have not met him."

"At least you met my mother."

"Aye. And she was a good woman, what little I knew of her."

"She _was_ good. She was the only thing standing between myself and my uncle's whip, many a time."

"She must have loved you dearly."

"She did. I know she did."

"I scarcely knew my mother. You, Enna, though you consider yourself wretched, are a lucky, lucky person. Your mother loved you, she raised you, and she would have died for you."

"Aye…"

"I cannot help but notice how she clung to life until she saw you again."

_Damn this cold air!_ It was making her eyes sting! "Perhaps. Though I think it was just her time."

"If you say so. But I have never seen such bliss on a human's face before that I saw on your mother's, when you rushed out to meet her."

"I did—did miss her terr…" Enna couldn't go on. Choking on her own tears, she hid her face in her hand and turned away. "Pardon m-me, I'll be all right in a moment…" Though she knew she wouldn't. The realization of all that she had lost came crashing violently down on her, and her chest heaved with repressed sobs—she was adrift on a sea of responsibility, no parental anchors to stay her tossing boat.

Aramir clasped her tightly in his arms, and she went readily, vaguely drawing the parallels between her losses and his. He, at that moment, was the only steadfast thing in the world, and she clung desperately to his arms as she shook with tears that had not been shed for what seemed like a lifetime.

"I understand now why men of old would spend their whole lives seeking revenge for bloodshed," Enna said at long last, her legs unsteady but her voice firm against his rough tunic.

"How is that?"

She pushed away from him, caught up in the emotions that were flooding her heart and mind and banishing all previous uncertainties about the war. "I want to keep fighting. I'm _glad_ Edmund tore that treaty—I would rather die now than give anything up to the Galmanians."

Glaring up at the white moon, Enna dashed a stray tear from her cheek with the flat of her hand. "Let Sabsestrin bring what he may. Even if Cair Paravel itself falls, _I_ will never yield to him. Not ever!"


	42. Chapter Forty Two

_A/N: It's February 14, everyone—guess what day it is? That's right! Singles' Appreciation Day, also known as SAD! :D Those of you who've read "A Time for Us" will remember how Schmo and I celebrated this holiday in 2007…and 2008…and now 2009! Though I have news from her that she will no longer be celebrating SAD, due to her courage to tell a certain someone about her feelings. I'm a perpetual spinster. (But I digress—that's what my Livejournal is for, haha!)_

_Well, hopefully this chapter, coincidentally rather Valentine-y, will make up for my lack of _amour_! Enjoy!_

_PS: I rated this story 'T' for intense emotional situations and physical suffering, but I think this chapter, though nowhere near 'M' extremity, leans more toward 'T+' than plain 'T'. Just a heads-up!_

--

Ilsta Stalresin was laid to rest somewhat beyond the camp early the next morning. Enna did not attend the brief event, preferring to remain with the Narnians and prepare to set off in pursuit of the fleeing Galmanian army. Lucy begged her to go, to say goodbye to her mother, but she only firmly replied that their farewells had been traded long before.

The army moved at a brisk pace southward, following the tracks left in the soft mud by the preceding host. Peter held Enna tightly in his arms as the sun drifted towards high noon and their shared horse pranced along, but said nothing to her. In fact, everyone seemed unsure of themselves around her, and appeared to prefer to keep their mouths shut than mention last night's affairs. Did the Narnians know nothing of death? It was a regular occurrence, one that Enna was familiar with. She was ready to move on, to seize the opportunity being presented to them, but the army still slogged along at an almost halfhearted, though admittedly quick, given the weather, pace. They forded the southernmost reaches of the Great River a little after midday, the icy water splashing up onto their legs and soaking their boots.

It was not until they had all made it across the water that anyone said anything of consequence to her.

"Look, Ed—I told you!" Queen Lucy cried, pointing towards the River and swinging energetically from her horse. "Did I not say that there is still ice on the surface!"

"It's scarcely April, Lu," King Edmund reminded her. "The water flowing in from the Sea is still bitterly cold, remember?"

"I have never seen it still frozen this late in the year."

"I doubt it is frozen through," Peter put in, swinging down from the saddle and offering a hand to Enna. "Don't get any ideas."

"Ideas? Why would _I_ get ideas?" Nevertheless, Lucy's eyes sparkled impishly.

Peter shook his head and turned to Enna. "Try to rest," he said quietly. "Eat something before we go on. You look tired."

"Aye."

Squeezing her hand, he paused a moment before striding off with King Edmund to eat and doubtless go over more strategies. Enna stretched slowly, feeling her muscles groan with the tension in them, before opening the horse's saddlebag and taking out a handful of the dried berries the dryads called _yetmis_.

"Enna," said Lucy, coming over with her own food in hand.

"Aye?"

"Won't you come down to the riverside with me?"

"Peter said not to get any ideas."

The queen looked highly affronted. "All I want is to sit on the banks! Why does everyone immediately assume I'm up to mischief?"

Enna did not reply, but looked archly at Lucy. "All right. Just to sit on the banks."

Lucy's annoyance disappeared in a moment, and she smiled, taking Enna's hand and tugging her away from the main army and down the slope to the narrow shore. "See? The ice has crowded all the way to the very banks."

Enna kicked at the rime, and it shattered loudly. "It seems very thin."

"Oh, only because it's in the shallows." Queen Lucy pushed a handful of dried boar's meat into her mouth.

"I'm glad we forded farther upstream."

"Aye—the river is very deep here in this neck of it."

Enna finished her yetmis and slowly sat down on the soft grass, oddly green against the stark whiteness of the iced-over water. Queen Lucy remained standing, tearing off hearty bites of the meat as she gazed across to the opposite bank from which they had just come.

"I wonder what it would be like to cross the river on _top_ of the ice. Peter, Su, and I did that once, during the Hundred Years' Winter when the River was frozen solid straight through to the bed."

"I would not advise it," Enna replied lazily, burying her hands in the grass.

"The Beavers led us along the shoreline from their dam," Lucy went on, obviously not paying attention to Enna at all. "We just stepped right onto the ice and went along, just like—this! Ta-da!"

Enna looked up, and when she saw Lucy, her blood ran as cold as the ice upon which the young queen stood. The foolish girl had, while Enna was looking away, leapt up _onto the ice_ and was gleefully slipping and sliding farther out from the shore.

"Lucy!" Enna cried, leaping to her feet. She could hear the short snaps as the thin ice buckled under the queen's weight, however small. "Lucy, please come back! You'll fall through!"

"I'll do no such thing, silly," Lucy replied, laughing.

"You _will!_ Oh, Gale—"

"What's the matter, Enna?"

She whirled around to see Aramir unhurriedly sliding down the bank, apparently thinking he'd stumbled upon a silly game. "She's gone _mad_!"

Aramir looked where she was pointing, and his jaw went slack. "I wholeheartedly agree!"

"Lucy, come back this instant!" Enna's voice echoed across the ice, sending a few waking trees to stirring in displeasure.

"Oh, all right, if you're going to be so clamorous about it," the queen grumbled, and began trudging back towards shore. But this new, decorous pace proved to be the most detrimental thing she could have done. Put under sudden and extended strain, the ice buckled once, twice, and gave way—plunging Lucy into the frigid black water.

Enna's hands flew to her mouth, and she and Aramir stared at the gaping hole in the rime, waiting for Lucy's head to pop up, gasping for air.

But it didn't.

"I have to go in and get her," Enna declared, hoisting her skirts up and running to the waterside.

Aramir caught her just before she set foot on the ice. "Enna, you can't—your clothes will drag you down, and you'll drown along with her!"

"We must do something!" she cried.

"Get Peter!"

"No—by then it'll be too late. If I can't get her, _you'll_ have to!"

He hesitated only a moment. "You're right. I'll do it. Call for help."

Enna did so, shouting with all her might as Aramir kicked off his boots and stepped up onto the ice. It groaned loudly under his much heavier weight, so he quickened his pace, and when he came to the edge of the hole, he took a deep breath and disappeared into the inky black waters.

Meanwhile, a small crowd of near-hysterical Narnians was gathering on the shore. Enna watched the water for any sign of movement, her heart up in her throat.

"What's going on here?"

It was King Edmund and Peter, pushing their way to the front of the crowd. "Lucy fell through the ice," she whispered.

"She _what_?"

King Edmund ran headlong for the water, but Enna physically restrained him. "Aramir has gone in search of her, sire," she said, pushing back as he struggled against her hindrance.

Peter grabbed his younger brother by the collar and hauled him back, white with fear. "Ed, don't _you_ go into the water, too!"

Suddenly, Enna saw the palm of a hand rush up from the murky depths and press flat against the ice, slapping desperately at it. Her heart pounding away in her ears, she seized a large rock and began cracking the ice at the shore, racing against time to break a path through to the hand. Freezing water rushed into her boots and soaked through her skirts as she drove herself on into the river, the broken ice slicing at her hands as she smashed through it with the rock. It took a moment, but soon the Narnians caught on to what she was doing, and they valiantly took up objects to join her.

Just as Enna's bloodied hands splintered another chunk of ice away, Lucy's head appeared above the water, gasping and sputtering, her face white as death. Enna shrieked and dropped the rock with a splash, grabbing onto the queen's heaving shoulders and struggling to keep her own footing. Aramir surfaced a moment later, his lips blue and hair plastered to his head.

"Thank the Lion!" Edmund burst out, a few meters behind Enna.

She got an arm around Lucy and began to tug her to shore, the water lapping at the two girls' waists. Aramir came slowly along beside her, Lucy's arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

Panting as though he himself had done the rescue, Edmund sloshed through the water to meet them, his own blue eyes glistening with tears of relief as Lucy coughed and began to cry. "Come ashore, quickly," he said to the three of them. "Someone build up a fire!"

A few Dwarfs scrambled up the bank to do his bidding. The very thought of a fire made Enna want to cry with relief—she had spent mere moments in the water, but she was already so cold she could barely move her legs. How did Aramir and Lucy feel? One glance at their ashen faces told her more than she wanted to know.

Immediately upon their arrival upon shore, Edmund swept Lucy up into his arms and carried her up the bank, leaving Aramir to climb it himself, panting and his dark hair dripping steadily into his eyes. Enna's heart wrenched with pity and she went to help, but before she could, Peter had put his arms around her and swept _her_ up.

"Peter!"

"Ssh," he said. "Try to rest."

She struggled uselessly. "Peter, I'm fine—really! Aramir needs help, not I."

"Aramir is being cared for. You're freezing."

By this point, they were at the top of the bank and she could see the blazing fire, so she decided not to argue any more than she needed to. Peter set her down close to the hearthstones, draping his cloak over her shoulders, and she instantly began to feel warmer, a deep shiver settling into her bones.

"Where is Lucy? And Aramir?" she asked.

"They are exchanging their wet clothes for dry ones, milady," said a naiad nearby.

Enna nodded. "Oh, Peter—I'm so sorry. If I had only been watching Lucy better…"

"It's not your fault, Enna. Really. I realize very well how difficult my sister can be to manage, sometimes." Peter sat by her and drew her close. "But I love you the more for your valiant attempts to tame her."

Enna knew he was looking for her to return the affection, but she didn't, only held close to his warmth as her skirts began to steam. "Aramir was very brave, you know. He ought to get something for his valor. He jumped right into the water to save her."

Peter made a noncommittal noise.

After a few minutes, Lucy, swathed in thick blankets and shivering fiercely, was brought to the fireside and propped up nearby.

"How do you feel, Lu?" Peter asked.

She sniffled and wiped her nose on the blanket. "Oh, Peter…I'm so dreadfully sorry. You were right! I _am_ a fool."

_"You_ are not a fool. What you _did_ was foolish."

"You are just lucky Aramir and I were nearby when you fell through," Enna said.

"Aramir was there?" Lucy asked, sounding puzzled.

"Aye—he came by just before you fell in. He dove in and saved your life, you know."

"He _did_? Why, Enna, I thought it had been you!"

"Me?" Enna laughed in surprise. "No—it was he."

"Really?" Lucy snuggled deeper into her blankets. "Oh, how much I owe him…"

"Well, here he comes now," Peter said. "Thank him."

Aramir, similarly bundled up, approached and painfully lowered himself to the ground, his hair just beginning to dry slightly in the cool afternoon air. As soon as he was settled, Lucy shifted slowly to his side and put her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Aramir, for saving my life."

"'Twas nothing."

"It _was_ something, I think," Lucy replied stubbornly.

Enna smiled to herself, snuggling closer against Peter's warmth. How sweet Lucy looked, gazing up at handsome Aramir with her big blue eyes!

Peter responded to her proximity by kissing her ear. "You ought to change your clothes, love. There is much we need to speak about, and I have decided not to travel on until tomorrow. Your things have been unpacked already."

Enna's heart sank. Something told her she was going to be reprimanded, but she nodded slowly. "Aye."

"Then dress, and come to my tent when you are ready."

Reluctantly, Enna stood and went to the tent she shared with Lucy. It was neatly arranged, though slightly untidy, as if someone had entered and quickly changed clothes. Dropping the flap behind her, Enna slipped off her gown and traded it for a dry one, shivering as the cool spring air slapped at her damp skin.

She could not help but feel a little knocked about by fate as she combed out her tangled hair. What had she done to deserve all her misfortune? Her mother was dead, her uncle trying to conquer Narnia, she was struggling unsuccessfully to fall in love with a kind and handsome king who loved _her_, she'd let the queen nearly drown, and now she was about to be admonished for something—she didn't know what.

And so it was with hesitant steps that she went to Peter's tent. He was seated at his cartography table, gazing blankly at the canvas wall, when she peeked inside, his chin resting in his hand.

"Peter…?"

He looked up. "Come in, Enna."

Uncertainly, she did so, dropping the flap down so that the tent was illuminated with red light from sunlight streaming against the scarlet walls. "Did I do something wrong?" she burst out after a moment of silence. "Because if I did, I am sincerely sorry, but am unaware of any wrongdoing, and beg your forg—"

"Enna, Enna," Peter laughed, standing up and taking her hands in his. "You have nothing to worry about!"

"I—ah." Enna blinked a bit stupidly. "Then…what is there to talk about?"

Peter touched her chin, chuckling fondly. "Much, my love. Much more than you'd think."

"Oh?"

"Aye. For instance, how dearly I love you."

Enna's cheeks flared red. "I don't see how that could be the topic of many scintillating conversations, to be frank."

"But, if you listen to what I have to say tonight, we will have the rest of our days to discover other thought-provoking subject matter."

"What do you mean?" Enna asked warily, scanning his fair face for a clue.

Was he blushing? "I mean, Enna…"

"Mean what?"

She spoke too soon: he was already lowering himself to one knee, the sanguine light falling across his impassioned face as he took her hand.

"Enna…I _do_ love you dearly. I cannot imagine living in Cair without you at my side—I value your company, your insights, your dear smile…Marry me. Today. Consent to becoming my beloved queen."

Enna shook her head, her heart racing with the intensity of her own feelings—queen! Of Narnia! "Peter—"

"Listen to me, Enna," he replied, his blue eyes flashing with strength of emotion. "I burn with love for you. I _yearn_ to call you my wife!"

"But—"

"Think of it, Enna." Peter stood up and took her arms in his hands, the heat of his palms searing through her sleeves. "Queen. Our children would be princes and princesses of Narnia, and you would never want for shelter or food or love."

"But I cannot love _you_," she said helplessly. "I have tried, Peter—but I simply can't."

"You have not been given enough time," Peter replied. His eyes flickered over her face once before returning to hers. "I _know_ you will learn to love me. You already love Narnia, Cair Paravel, her people. How can I be far off?"

Enna bit her lip, looking away. "I am hardly worthy of being crowned queen."

Peter in return turned her face back towards his. "Enna, do not doubt yourself. I have seen within you the depth of strength and honor that the role of queen requires—we all have."

"What would your siblings say?" she whispered.

"Lucy adores you—of which you are well aware."

"But what about your royal brother?"

"I…he would not disagree."

Peter's brief hesitation was not lost on her. "Peter," she sighed, taking a step back, "I don't think it would be right for us to marry. We are very different, you know, and I am a Galmanian…"

"That does not enter into it," he said firmly.

"Perhaps not," she admitted. "But I cannot shake the feeling that it would be ill-advised to marry so quickly—today, of all times!"

"At night, when I try to sleep, I feel as though I will die for the want of you," Peter said ardently. "Would you prolong my suffering?"

Enna rubbed at her temples. "Not today." _Not ever._

"Tomorrow, then. I love you, Enna, and it is my heart's desire to wed you!"

She looked up into his stormy blue eyes, that golden hair falling across his forehead, the faint yellow beard on his strong jaw, and the impassioned flush on his cheeks. _Marry him,_ Mammata had said—Peter was handsome, well built, and noble. If his treatment of Lucy had been any indication, he would be a doting, yet cautious, father to any children she might bear him.

That single thought gave her a thrill that she did not expect. If children resulted from their union…she had always wanted a chubby-cheeked babe to call her own. And if it was a boy, a prince of Narnia, with his grandfather's sturdy shoulders and father's flashing eyes…she could bear it for him.

"Very well."

Her voice sounded loud, but she repeated the words, still not quite believing she'd said them. "Very well. I will wed you."

Peter's face brightened, and a grin burst out across his face. "You will not regret this, Enwynna!" he cried, throwing his arms around her and twirling her around the tent.

Enna smiled, but the glee she was supposed to feel upon such a joyous occasion was nowhere to be found. She felt defeated, rather, and trampled down. There was no escaping being chained to this man, not any longer.

_I will make the best of it._

So swearing to herself, Enna turned her head and kissed Peter fervently, his beard scratching uncomfortably against her cheek. He reciprocated briefly before setting her back down on her feet, his face red.

"I must go make arrangements," he said, sounding a bit breathless himself. "We must ready the Narnians for a wedding!"

And thus he kissed her hand and hurried from the tent, leaving Enna alone to contemplate her temerarious decision and mull over the potential consequences.

--

Enna and Peter were wed the next afternoon by Glenstorm the centaur and a silken cord that bound their hands together. The people made merry and cheered when their king pronounced the quiet islander their queen, though it was wondered about and discussed in low tones as to how strange it was that the great Lion, Aslan, had not been present. Had he simply been busy? Or had he not been invited at all?

Whatever the cause, the curiosity about the situation was brief, for wine flowed freely and the naiads and dryads made river and wood music for the rambunctious group, the Dwarfs told stories of Queen Swanwhite the Fair and the defeat of the White Witch by the resplendent groom.

Enna threw herself into the whirling activities with everything she had, hoping that her zeal for the festivities would somehow translate into zeal for her new husband. Dressed in the finest gown that she had thought to bring and Lucy's thoughtful additions from her own wardrobe, she smiled and chatted cheerfully with the well-wishing Nymrunians and Narnians alike, the weight of Peter's wedding gift—a pendant of gold in his oak tree motif that replaced the simple necklace of sea glass that Aramir had given her for Christmas—bearing down on her neck.

Edmund, her now-brother-in-law, was as uncharacteristically quiet as she was uncharacteristically ebullient, and Enna knew that it was only by the power of Peter's lordship over him that he did not publicly object to the union. He and Aramir both, it seemed, disapproved of the haste with which their brother and king had gone about marrying his sweetheart.

The festivities wore on until late in the evening—the moon was rising in the place of the sun before Peter finally took notice of Enna's concealed yawns.

"Are you tired, my love?" he said softly, under the cover of a particularly boisterous outburst of laughter as a satyr took a naiad by the hand and attempted to dance with her.

Enna nodded apologetically. "Aye."

"Should we retire?"

"Are we allowed to?" she asked, looking around at the guests. "Wouldn't it be rude…?"

"Hardly." He slipped his hand into hers. "Let's go."

And so they slipped away from the merry-makers, unseen by all except for a few knowing-eyed Dwarfs. It was a very strange sensation for Enna, indeed, to pass her own tent, now emptied of all her belongings, in favor of her new one, the grand imperial tent that Peter had once shared with Edmund. Now, the younger king would take her place in Lucy's tent so she and Peter could have one to themselves.

She swallowed convulsively as Peter pushed the flap aside, looking at her over his shoulder. It was much too dark inside. However, when he lit the lamp and she saw the wide cot, she decided it was much too light. She had no idea what one did at this point in a marriage—why must the light reveal all her uncertainties?

"I must get into my nightdress," she declared nervously after a moment.

Peter made no move to leave.

"I wish to have privacy," Enna clarified, fighting a flush.

"Very well. You shall have a moment." Peter was obviously hiding a teasing grin, but he ducked out of the tent.

Finally alone, Enna scrabbled at her things, trying to find the demurest nightdress she could. But she only had the two, one just as immodest, in her opinion, as the other. Biting her lip, she removed the many layers of wedding clothes and tossed them in a corner before pulling on the nightgown and tying the ribbon all the way up to her neck. If only it didn't show so much limb! Her arms were exposed from her elbows to her wrists, and her legs were bare from just below her knee to her toes!

Enna had never felt so vulnerable.

When Peter dared to venture back in, she had calmed her riotous emotions and was perched on a chair, combing out her loose hair with slow, deliberate motions. "The food was excellent tonight," she commented as he let the flap fall shut behind him.

"Aye."

"And the dancing quite spirited." She gave a yawn, setting the comb down.

"Quite."

Enna looked at him, standing there in his kingly finery and looking rather out of place. "Won't you get ready for bed?"

"Of course."

She turned away and began fluffing the pillow on her side of the cot, trying to calm her shaking hands. Why was she worrying? All they were doing was sharing a bed. It would be a good deal warmer with him nearby.

When she thought he was about ready to turn down the lantern and retire, she turned around—to her utter surprise, he was standing with his back to her, bare-skinned to the waist as he removed his crown and boots. Why did her stomach threaten to lose all that good food at the sight? She had seen plenty of shirtless men in her life—sailors, laborers, peasants—but never once Peter.

He turned slightly and caught her looking. "You seem a bit pale, Enna. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, oh, yes," she said in a voice that was slightly higher than usual, turning away and vigorously fluffing her pillow.

He came around the other side of the bed and sat facing her, the lamplight flickering on his golden hair. Enna did not dare look up, for fear she would see his broad, bare chest and be sick with nerves. Silently, she abandoned her pillow-fluffing and cautiously edged onto the cot.

"There's nothing to be nervous about," he said softly.

"I'm not nervous," she lied. "Just…tired."

Peter leaned forward, putting one arm on Enna's other side and greatly increasing the proximity of their faces. "I promise you will be quite all right, love."

Enna managed a weak grin, keeping her hands knitted tightly together in her lap. What was she supposed to do? It was the mother's job to teach her daughter about wedding nights, but Mammata had died before then.

The thought pricked painfully at Enna's heart. How much else was she missing out on because Mammata had died? If only she had lived, her stomach might not be in such tight knots now. She might have an idea of what her duties as wife were. How to tell when she was with child. How to please Peter. But she was on her own…

Peter didn't seem to notice Enna's private dilemma, for he leaned closer and began to kiss her gently but firmly. Enna reciprocated hesitantly, the heat from his bare chest radiating against her folded hands. These kisses were different: they were persistent, lingering, and warmer than she remembered. His lips moved more freely across her mouth, too—and, at long last, across her cheek and down the ticklish line of her neck, his beard scraping her collarbone.

Enna held her breath, not daring to move any muscle except to ball her fists at her sides. This was all so foreign and uncomfortable! How could any woman in her right mind willingly subject herself to such discomfiture? She wasn't sure what Peter was aiming to do, teasing her neck like this, but it was only making her want desperately to squirm away.

A roar began to build as he drew closer and loosened the ribbons holding her nightgown together at the collar—it seemed to Enna alarmingly akin to the snarling shrieks of the big cats that plunged into battle with their teeth bare and claws unsheathed. But it was not a sound she could hear: it was inside her head, battering at her skull and sending her stomach churning with tense queasiness. Her hands shook violently, and she was suddenly quite sure she was going to be sick.

"Peter—" she choked, pushing him away. Fresh air rushed against her burning cheeks and into her lungs, and her head began to clear almost as quickly as it had begun to spin.

"What's the matter?" he asked, and leaned back on his heels, his breathing quicker than usual.

Enna couldn't look at him. "I…I feel ill."

"Ill?"

"Yes. It's…I think I have been over-stimulated today."

"But—"

"We ought to sleep. You intend to move the army on tomorrow, don't you?"

"Well, aye…"

"Then you need your rest, too."

Peter sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Enna, it's our wedding night."

"And I feel ill," she replied insistently. "Perhaps it would be better to wait."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain."

"All right, then." His mouth narrowed to a thin line, but he retreated and tugged the covers on his side of the bed down before turning down the lantern. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Enna sighed silently in relief, turning her back to him and wrapping herself in blankets. _Oh, Mammata…_

Peter tinkered about for a few more minutes, but at last got into bed and drew the covers up. Enna closed her eyes and tried to relax, but after a few moments had passed, Peter settled his bare arm over her and effectively pinned her in place. Any serenity that had snuck over her disappeared immediately, and she stared wide-eyed into the darkness as her husband's breathing slowed and eventually deepened into a breathy snore.

As soon as she realized he was asleep, all of Enna's pent-up emotions came rushing forward, and she hid her face in her pillow and yielded to the tears.


	43. Chapter Forty Three

_A/N: Woah. Two updates in ONE day! I must really love y'all! :D Be sure to tell me how much you love me back and review—not like you guys need encouragement in that department, though. ;D_

_BTW, sorry it's so short - but you'll soon see how quickly it moves the plot along._

--

Enna woke early the next morning and slid out from under Peter's arm, dressing as quietly as she could and tiptoeing from the tent. The sunlight blinded her, but the fresh air filled her lungs and ruffled the hem of her frock, and she sighed deeply.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," said a passing faun, and bowed deeply.

Enna blinked. "Er—aye. Thank you." _Your Majesty! Fancy that! Queen Enna of Narnia. It _does_ sound decent…_

"Well, you're up early," Lucy said when Enna approached the campfire. "I'd have thought you and Peter would lie in late."

"I'm hungry, that's all," Enna replied carefully. After much thought, she'd decided that the kingdom did not need to know that their king's marriage hadn't yet been consummated.

"I'll bet you are," Lucy said with a devilish wink and a grin. "Come, sit by me. Breakfast is almost ready."

Flushing fiercely, Enna went and did so, fiddling with Peter's necklace as it rested against her chest. "Where are Aramir and King Edmund?"

"Aramir is still sleeping—I looked." Lucy blushed and giggled a bit shyly, causing Enna to look with surprise at her.

"And why is that, Lucy?"

Lucy picked self-consciously at the grass. "I…"

"You…?"

"Oh, you must think me absolutely foolish," the young queen laughed. "But you'll forgive me, Enna—I have a question I've been dying to ask you for quite awhile now."

Enna accepted the bowl of porridge that the Dwarf stirring the pot handed her. "What is it?"

Lucy took a bowl and thoughtfully ate a bite of the food. "Well…well, Peter and Edmund and Su have decided that I am still too young to accept any foreign princes or kings that seek my hand in marriage."

"Aye."

"I suppose my question is…well, one of them, anyway…what do you think they would say if I wanted to marry someone who was _not_ a prince nor king?"

Enna looked at her. "Well, Lucy, I suppose they would still say you are too young."

Lucy sighed, poking at her porridge. "Of course they would. But the _principle_ of the thing—would they object, do you think, to me marrying a…a commoner? Peter married _you_, yes, but you are a gentleman's daughter, and he is the high king. Do you think it would be different for a _woman_ to marry down?"

"It is not for me to say, I'm afraid."

"But you are queen now, too," Lucy reminded her. "You and I are of the same rank now—you may officially challenge my brothers on any matter now! Would you allow me to marry below my station?"

Enna thought a moment. "Well, I suppose if you truly loved the man, and were positive you would be happy, I would have little qualms about letting you. But I think that, practically speaking, it would be best for Narnia if you married a foreign prince."

"Yes, I was afraid you'd say that," the younger girl sighed fretfully.

"Afraid? Why, Lucy—have you set your heart on someone already?"

Lucy giggled nervously, but nodded. "You are clever enough to have guessed already who."

Enna hid a smile. "Is it…Sir Aramir Ealion, perchance?"

"Aye…! Edmund tells me I am acting like a goon, but I can't help it. Whenever I see him, my heart makes funny little flip-flops." Lucy hugged herself gleefully, her round face glowing. "I suppose I needn't explain it to _you_—you already know what it is like!"

Enna smiled but didn't reply: Lucy didn't need to know how few giddy feelings she experienced in Peter's presence.

"Well, he _is_ a knight," Lucy mused. "He is not completely common. At least he is not Narnian…do you think I could convince my brothers to let me marry him?"

Enna drew back a bit at this. "Has he asked you?"

"Asked me?" Lucy snorted. "Hardly. I'd like to think I hide my feelings better than that!"

"I see. Do you intend on telling him?"

The queen looked astonished. _"Tell_ him? Of course not! I would never do that. At least, not now. Perhaps later…but not now."

"I'll advise caution," Enna said seriously. "Do not leap heedlessly into any affairs with men. I've learned that well."

"You certainly married Peter quickly enough."

"Mm." Enna began to eat her breakfast before Lucy could question her again.

A few minutes later, Edmund came out of his tent, yawning and rubbing sleepily at his eyes. "Good morning, Lu. Good morning, Enna."

"Good morning, Ed," Lucy chirruped, patting the grass next to her. "Have some breakfast?"

"Gladly," the young man sighed.

"Is Aramir up yet, do you know?" Lucy asked casually, picking an invisible piece of lint off of her skirt.

"I think I saw him polishing his sword a moment ago," Edmund yawned.

Lucy looked expectantly around. "He ought to eat. I'll go and fetch him." So saying, she got to her feet and scampered off, humming happily.

Edmund and Enna sat in silence, the only sound being that of Edmund's spoon against his bowl. Eventually, though, he looked up at her. "Does my brother still sleep?"

"Aye."

"He must be very tired."

Enna fought a blush—why must everyone assume he had lain with her last night? "I was not."

Edmund nodded disinterestedly just as Lucy came skipping back, Aramir in tow. "You must eat, silly goose," she was telling him.

Enna looked away as Aramir's dark eyes met with hers—she could not stand the reproach she saw there. She wished she had not been so hasty in giving away herself to Peter, but if she had to be reminded of it every time she looked at Aramir, she'd go mad!

Just as Aramir smiled at Lucy and took a bowl of porridge from her, there arose a commotion in the far end of the camp. Edmund, stretching, shielded his eyes against the sun, looking.

"What is it?" Lucy asked.

"I can't tell," Edmund replied. "It looks like…"

"Like what?"

By now, Aramir was standing, too, staring intently in the direction of the great disturbance. "Enna, I think you should wake Peter."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because it's Galma!" Edmund bellowed, leaping to his feet. "By the Lion—they're attacking us! Completely unprovoked!"

Enna needed no further encouragement. Nearly blind with panic, she fled into the tent and nearly fell upon Peter, shaking him violently. "Peter! _Peter!_"

"Wha? What's going on, Enna?" he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes and struggling to sit up.

"Galma is attacking the camp," she burst out, yanking his chain mail from its bag and tossing it into his lap.

"They're _what_?"

"They've descended upon us! Hurry and dress before they are here!"

Peter struggled with the covers and stumbled to his feet, clumsily pulling on his tunic and chain mail. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He, still blinking with sleep, buckled Rhindon on over his tabard and grappled with his boots. "Go and take Lucy—run! Get away from camp before the Galmanians find you. Do not think their covetous looks in your direction were lost on me!"

"I cannot find my bow and quiver," Enna protested, nearly tearing the tent apart in her distress.

"Forget them!" Peter took her wrists and began to push her towards the entrance.

Enna attempted to struggle, but he caught her around the waist and removed her bodily from the tent. _"Go!_"

Lucy met her, wide-eyed. "Oh, Peter, what shall we do?" she cried as he took up his shield.

"Run, Lucy."

Her face immediately relaxed. "Run? Never! I shall fight!" And she turned abruptly on her heel and ran to her tent.

"Lucy!" Enna cried. The sounds of battle were growing louder, and Peter increasingly agitated.

"Lucy can fend for herself," he bellowed. "I want _you_ to flee, Enna! It is not she they want—it is you!"

As if on cue, a leather-clad warrior burst through the wall of a tent, the canvas ripping as he tore it with his broadsword. Peter unsheathed Rhindon and rushed towards him, their weapons clashing so savagely that sparks flew from the clanging blades.

Enna watched in dismay for only a moment before instinct took control of her feet and she began running blindly, tripping over abandoned satchels and shields. It was like a scene from a nightmare—her most dreaded enemy at her heels, stepping on them, breathing hot breath down her back.

But it was not her imagination. Suddenly, an iron arm clamped around her waist, squeezing so hard she cried out, and then the world tipped sideways and she was thrown barbarously over someone's shoulder, stars erupting in her vision. Enna snarled and kicked with all her might, but her head, swinging freely, lurched forward and smashed her nose against her captor's armor-plated back. Her eyes welled with sudden tears just as blood began to drip from one nostril.

So this is how it felt to be kidnapped.


	44. Chapter Forty Four

Enna, thrown over the shoulder of an unknown Galmanian soldier, found herself being borne away from the sounds of battle, though all she could see was her captor's back. A drop of blood from her swelling nose threatened to drip into her eye, and she managed to free a hand to wipe it away before taking a deep breath and beginning to kick and struggle.

"Let me go!" she snarled, beating upon his leathered back until her firsts turned red and bruised.

"I'm under orders, you virago," the soldier growled back. His arms clamped viciously around Enna's legs, pinning them together. "It'll be much more easier if yeh just hold still!"

Enna had no intention of being carted off _that_ easily. With a furious noise, she renewed her struggle, and beat soundly upon the soldier, his cries of angered pain only encouraging her.

But, alas, might won out over willpower, and Enna was soon dumped unceremoniously to the ground and securely gagged with a handkerchief. As she scuffled futilely against the hands that were tying her wrists and ankles together, her captor loomed over her and she got a good look at him. To her satisfaction, she saw a dusky black bruise forming on his cheekbone.

_I hope you'll remember that pain!_ she thought heatedly.

"Are the bonds secure?" he asked.

"Aye, my lord."

"Good. Maybe our little runaway will learn to stay put. Leave her with the others."

"Are you sure that is wise, my lord? What if they—"

"They are gagged."

"Aye, my lord."

And thus Enna was hauled into someone else's arms and carted summarily off to a large enclosed litter that rested on a wide, flat rock. She had seen such things in use on Galma, but only then with fine gossamer curtains and the shadows of fine ladies inside—never nailed up and broken-looking like this one. Squirming and emitting muffled screams did nearly nothing to prevent her being placed inside, only temporarily slowed it as the man who carried her stumbled over a stone, and soon the heavy canvas curtains were pushed aside and she was rudely tossed in.

Darkness surrounded her immediately. Her ears ringing, she huddled on the floor of the litter where she'd been cast, not daring to breathe or move a muscle: there was something else in there with her.

"Enna?"

Enna lifted her head from the floor at the familiar voice. She tried to reply, but could only make idiotic grunting sounds, as the gag pressed down harshly on her tongue.

"I think she's been gagged, too, Aramir," came King Edmund's whisper.

"I'm still tied up. Enna, you can force the gag out of your mouth if you pull your chin in and work it with your tongue."

Enna did so, feeling distinctly foolish. But at last, she managed to free herself from its tight knot, and she took a deep breath of the stale air. "I've got it," she whispered softly.

"Are you all right?"

As her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, she began to pick out figures, all huddled on their knees or sides. "Aye—aye, just a bit knocked. Who else is here?"

"I am," came Edmund's gloomy whisper.

"And I," said Lord Lorendo's deep voice.

"And I"—"And I, too"—"And I". And so it went, until Enna counted nearly nine others in the litter with her and Aramir.

"Were you all captured, then, too?"

"Aye…"

She sighed and struggled into a sitting motion. Just as she got settled, the litter tilted up sharply on one end, and all the captives tumbled together into a heap at the other. Then that side was lifted up, too, until the palanquin was steadied.

"I think we're moving," came a distinctly dog-ish voice nearby.

The abductees, bound hand and foot as they were, struggled to free themselves from the jumble of bodies without swaying their vehicle too obviously.

"This is barbaric!" came a she-faun's high whisper.

"This is war," said King Edmund. "I don't doubt we will be used as bargaining chips."

They lapsed into silence as the litter moved rhythmically back and forth, and the sound of marching feet could be heard through the thick curtains.

At last, Enna stirred and looked around at the shadowy forms. "Well, are we going to just sit here?"

"What else would you suggest, milady?" asked a Dwarf. "Lawn games?"

"I suggest we at least _try_ to think of some way to run away."

The creatures scoffed at her proposition, but Edmund shushed them. "Enna has a point. Whether she has a strategy, we have yet to find out, but…"

"They have taken away our weapons," Lorendo said. "We must go without."

"We are smart," she replied. "We'll do just fine."

"We could roll out of the litter," an eagle suggested. "My wings are tied down, but someone could carry me."

"They'd shoot us as soon as let us roll away," Edmund said dryly.

"True, sire."

"Might we wait until nightfall, and _then_ roll away?" said the she-faun.

"We might not have until nightfall."

"But it's a start," Enna retorted. "If we got our gags undone, could we not do so for our hands and feet? Then we could wait until dark and then _walk_ away."

"Aye. I second that," said the eagle.

A sudden inspiration struck Enna, and she sat up. "Could you bite our ties, good sir eagle?" she asked. "Your beak is free."

"Well, aye," wheedled the bird. "But my beak is made for tearing flesh, not rope. It would take much time."

"Once you got one of us free," Aramir put in quickly, "then we could release the others. It would take half as long."

"Aye! Aye!" agreed the creatures wholeheartedly.

"Then it is settled," Enna said firmly. "At nightfall. For Narnia!"

Edmund nodded emphatically. "And for Aslan."

But, as it quickly turned out, the captives would not even get until nightfall. Shortly after their plans had been finalized, the litter shuddered to a halt and was set down firmly on something hard and solid. Quickly, the Narnians replaced their gags and pretended to be sleepily waking as their captors threw aside the canvas curtains, letting blinding sunshine stream in.

"Drag them out," came a Galmanian voice.

One by one, the abductees were pulled from the litter, their ankles unbound, and then forced to walk across gravelly dirt. As Enna was taken out and had her lashes torn off, she caught a glance at their surroundings—it was a different part of Narnia than she'd ever seen before. They had come to a stop atop a high hill, dusty and dotted with crumbling walls and statues, the ruins of an ancient fortress, if Enna was not mistaken. The other Narnians had been taken into what seemed to be the very nucleus of that once-imposing stronghold, kneeling in the lush green grass that had sprung up in what had at one time been a great chamber. Now, the roof had long since caved in and the walls begun to crumble, but as Enna was forced to sit next to the Dwarf, she couldn't help but raise her eyes to those bastions of Old Narnia, praying that somehow, _any_how, they would be rescued.

But there did not seem to be any hope for them. As they were kneeling there in the grass, heads lowered in fear and disappointment, Captain Minodaurus clubbed Aramir savagely across the side of the face with his sword, sending the doe-eyed youth sprawling in the grass. A spot of blood dribbled from his ear and he clapped a dirtied hand to it in anguish, but the Narnians could do nothing. Enna fought tears as she listened to Aramir's muffled groans as he was forced back to his knees.

The sun drifted higher in the sky, nearly reaching the point of noon, before there were any new happenings. But at long last, the Narnians' Galmanian guards straightened and pulled their captives up to their feet, as well. Sabsestrin, Captain Minodaurus at his heels, was striding purposefully towards the little band, his thin beard streaked with red and white battle paint.

"So, barbarians."

Enna glared at him, daring him to do something. She was a queen, now—her husband ruled Galma, whether these rebels would admit it or not.

Sabsestrin noted her dark look and chuckled. "Ah, the little minx is still the same…don't you realize, little Enna? We have captured you _and_ your king."

_Please, Edmund, Lorendo, Aramir, don't reveal that I am queen now,_ she begged silently. The Sons of Adam on her left remained mute.

"Galma has had quite enough of the barbarian brats' games," Sabsestrin went on. "Don't you think this is a most convenient way to finish them?"

Captain Minodaurus, obviously pleased about something, bobbed on his heels and smiled. "Aye, sire!"

"Most excellent." Sabsestrin beamed. "Now, as soon as Narnia realizes that her king is gone, they will come groveling back on their bellies, this war shall be over, and I shall have my niece back."

Enna shuddered, and her guard squeezed her shoulders painfully.

"But it may take them quite awhile to realize it," Sabsestrin said, pretending to sober. "We must have something to do to pass the time. Therefore, my good friend Captain Minodaurus has volunteered to host an entertainment of sorts for you."

The fun loving but woefully naïve Narnians brightened, but Enna, Aramir, Lorendo, and Edmund paled considerably.

"Bring him forward."

Aramir's guard lifted the ashen-faced young man and brought him forth to kneel at his brother's feet. Enna wanted to close her eyes at the sight of his broad shoulders sagging in defeat as dark blood continued to dribble from his ravaged ear.

"Now that we have regained our countryman," said Sabsestrin, "we may bring him to justice. All you barbarian creatures will bear witness to his punishment for desertion! For mutiny against his captain! For high treason against Galma! For assisting a _sea rat_."

"What, exactly, is that punishment to be?" Lorendo challenged, his booming voice echoing admirably off of the moldering walls.

"Why," said Captain Minodaurus in astonishment, "this boy has committed the gravest of sins! He deserves nothing less than death!"

Enna remained silent, but the Narnian creatures' collective gasp spoke for her. _Death_? Impossible. Aramir had done nothing wrong—it was _her_ fault!

Aramir, meanwhile, was chafing his hands together, obviously trying to loosen his bonds, but Minodaurus kicked him over in the dusty grass, drawing his sword. The fear on Aramir's pallid face tore at Enna's mind, rending her heart so slowly and agonizingly that suddenly, she straightened and said in a loud voice—

"Take me in his stead, Uncle."

Minodaurus' sword halted in its path upward, and he looked in confusion at Sabsestrin.

"Are you saying you wish to be executed in his place?" Sabsestrin asked slowly.

Enna nodded and swallowed, her heart beating a death-knell in her ears.

Sabsestrin stared at her for a moment, and then chuckled. "Hardly. You are far more worthy to me than this whelp here. I will not allow it. Carry on, Captain."

Any earlier in her life, Enna would have been relieved to have the cup of death taken from her lips. But this—_this_ was unjustifiable. It was her sins—her own fault that Aramir was to be put to the sword! How could she just stand there and watch him lay down his life for _her_ wrongdoing?

As she stood there, sweating and trembling with emotion, it seemed to her, and everyone around, that a hot, sweet breeze rustled through the grass. Enna felt it on her hands, and as she chafed her wrists together, her bonds loosened and fell away; she broke out of her warden's grip and flung herself in front of Aramir's defenseless body, hands up to shield him from the glinting blade.

At the same time the Narnians, their hearts stirred by the whisper heard in the wind, also felt their bonds falling away. Their captors' hands drew away, as if scalded, from their shoulders; now freed, they spread their wings or unsheathed their claws. Edmund, heeding the gentle voice in his ear, sprinted to Sabsestrin and felled him roughly to the ground, barely avoiding striking his head against a marble stone.

But none of this did Enna see. She was curled up in the dusty grass, looking down at her frock, torn savagely and surging blood. Hot waves of pain radiated up from the wound, and her eyes blurred strangely as she felt bits of flesh come away in her trembling hands. She had saved Aramir's life—but Minodaurus' sword was stained with gore anyway. Somehow, the blade had missed her shielding hands and struck her body instead.

In the distance, it seemed, there came a distant trumpet blast, and the Galmanian host, their faces slack with the daring of the barbarian captives, leapt into formation. Overhead, so thick the shadows nearly blotted out the sun, came the winged Narnians, wild with rage for their ravaged people and stolen rulers.

"Enna, Enna, Enna," said Aramir, his voice barely audible over the din of impending conflict. "How could you do such a thing?"

She scarcely heard him. Narnia had come after all…but now it was too late.


	45. Chapter Forty Five

_A/N: Oy! This is a short chapter. Sorreh! But y'all got two in one day again (thank you, Presidents' Day!), so it can't be all bad. Hopefully the next one will be longer (and come quickly, too!)._

--

Enna wished that she could be like the damsels written about in poetry, fainting away whenever pain or distress or just the stress of living bore too hard on their delicate souls. But she was not a heroine of old; rather, she found herself fully conscious and mindful of the acute pain reverberating though her whole body from that seemingly shallow wound, the sounds of battle echoing loudly in her whirling head.

At first, she had attempted to keep any sounds of discomfort to herself, but as Aramir, still bleeding from the ear, tried to help her stand and falter towards Peter and a riderless horse, it became impossible, and Enna, once proud and aloof, lay curled in the bloody grass, half-sobbing in pain and pressing her face to the cold ground as the world spun.

"Oh, Enna!" came Lucy's distant voice. _"Aramir!_"

Their voices melded into each other's until Enna could no longer tell who was who. Someone lifted her in their arms and shushed her as she wailed in pain, but she made no attempt to see who, exactly, it was. But this person carried her stumblingly towards the waiting horse and set her atop it, holding her up as she sagged over the saddle horn and clutched at her oozing stomach.

The next thing she was fully cognizant of was the interior of a Narnian tent, Lucy's white face looming above her. "Try to relax, Enna," she soothed.

_I must not frighten her._ Enna nodded abruptly, clutching silently at the blankets as dryads and she-centaurs cautiously began to remove her blood-soaked frock. "Where is Aramir? And—Edmund?"

"They are both alive," Lucy hurried to reply, clutching one of Enna's white-knuckled hands in hers. "But Aramir's ear is severely injured—he might lose his hearing in it."

Enna closed her eyes in pain. "And—what of the Galmanians?"

"They have been routed, and are fleeing south again. Peter and Edmund have taken a contingent to pursue them. Aramir is with them."

The centauress began to wrap a thick bandage around Enna's ravaged stomach, and she clenched down unthinkingly on Lucy's hand. "Ahh—I see."

Lucy winced at the sudden pressure, but pushed a sweaty strand of hair off of Enna's forehead. "Try to rest easy. You're making the bleeding worse."

"Easier—said than done," she replied, trying to chuckle.

"That's the spirit," Lucy said, and a wan smile flickered over her white face.

The creatures finished wrapping the wound a few minutes later, and, feeble and drained, Enna finally slipped into a tortured, restless sleep. That rest was interrupted numerous times over the next few days, but any memories Enna had of being woken and given water, or perhaps spoken to, was foggy at best.

On instance, though, stuck out distinctly in her mind. Whether it was night or day, she had no recollection, for it was always half-dark in the tent, but Lucy looked particularly drawn.

"How do you feel, Enna?" she asked, taking her hand.

Enna managed a smile that was more like a grimace and lied, "Well."

"That's good." Lucy pushed uncomfortably at her crown—with her two brothers on the battle trail, her sister back in Cair Paravel, and the newly crowned queen bedridden, the weight of commanding the small fraction of the army left behind had fallen on her shoulders.

"Is there something you wish to say?" Enna murmured.

Lucy cleared her throat. "Well…I…it's a bit…"

Enna felt her eyelids drifting downwards again—even just listening to Lucy was wearying. "Just speak it."

"Well…Enna, dear…I'm afraid there isn't much else we can do for you…"

She stirred and blinked a little, rousing herself with an effort. "What are you saying?"

Lucy rubbed at her eyes and sniffled slightly. "Enna…you're dying."

The words startled Enna, but only momentarily. It actually made a kind of morbid sense: it was the only logical reason Enna could think of that would explain her constant pain, her growing exhaustion, the dimness of her vision. "I see."

"I'm so sorry…I don't know…what I can say…"

"There isn't much to be said," Enna sighed. "Do you know…when?"

Lucy wiped a tear off of her cheek and tried to look brave. "Doubtless within the next few days…I have already sent a letter to my brothers."

"I see." Enna tried to smile for Lucy—there was no reason for the young girl to worry more. Already, she was thinking of what would happen _after_ her death, rather than _before_ it. Mammata would be there…and Pappata, Laeia…all those who had gone before her, loved her, and yet forsaken life prematurely.

And so, as Lucy turned away, Enna slipped into muddled dreams again, telling herself, not unhappily, that soon, she would never have to worry about Sabsestrin, or Peter, or this wretched war ever again.

--

_A/N2: Woohoo! Three cliffies in a row! Makes you reconsider your idea of what my decision regarding a sequel is, don't it! ;D_


	46. Chapter Forty Six

"Your Highnesses?"

Both Lucy and Enna looked up at the soft voice. "What is it, Katla?" Lucy asked, sniffling. "I hope it is important."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty…" said the dryad timidly.

Lucy patted Enna's hand comfortingly and set it down for a moment, turning to the dryad, where they began conversing in low voices. Enna did not try to listen. What was the point? She could sense her own end circling closer and closer, perhaps by the hour; it took all of her energy just to lay there in the dim tent with her eyes half-open. When Lucy turned back to her, though, she struggled to look more awake.

"Katla says that my brothers have sent a message," the young queen said softly. "They are returning with all haste from the south."

"It is good of them," Enna replied.

"They love you dearly, Enna. Even Edmund does, though I do not think he shows it well."

"I am sure you are right."

"I _know_ I am right. If they had only known what would happen to you, they would not have forbidden me from bringing my cordial."

"Quite."

Lucy bit her lip. "That's it, Enna…just rest."

And Enna intended to do so—but another faun came in. "Your Majesties…"

"What is it?" Lucy said loudly, then quickly covered her mouth. "Oh, dear, I'm sorry—what is it, Desium?"

The faun's ears quivered as he rubbed at one of his horns. "My queen…the lion is here."

"Who?"

"…Aslan, Your Majesty. Aslan is here."

Lucy sat up quickly, her face flushing. "Oh, _Aslan_! Enna, wait right here for a moment—"

Before Enna could nod, Lucy had leapt to her feet and flown from the tent, leaving her quite alone in the dim light with the elderly faun. Desium rapped his hooves on the ground, chafed his palms together, and fluttered his tail—all things that would have driven Enna up a wall, had she not been so tired.

At long last, though, the tent flap began to twitch. Enna, expecting Lucy, laboriously pushed a strand of dirty hair off of her cheek and looked towards the entrance.

But it was not Lucy's wild, tawny mane that came through the opening.

Aslan, great and golden-eyed, seemed to take up half of the tent as his silent paws padded across the bloodstained mats. His fur cast yellow shimmers on the canvas walls, as if it had captured rays of sun and was slowly letting them leak out; he seemed out of place—and yet strangely at home—inside the dark and airless room.

"Peace, my child," he rumbled as Enna's heart thundered into labored panic. "Still your fright. I am not here to eat you, nor have I ever been."

As he spoke, he blew warm breath over Enna's face, and it smelled faintly of sweet sea breezes. The warmth surrounded her cold body, soothing her many aches and easing the harsh throbbing in her stomach. She shivered momentarily, relishing in the painlessness.

"Sit up, Daughter of Eve," Aslan said, his eyes staring unblinkingly at her.

Enna shook her head. "I can't, sir Lion, I've been—"

_"Sit up._"

Trembling a bit with apprehension, Enna did so—and found that the motion was effortless. She slipped a hand beneath the heavy blankets, reaching for the ravaged wound—but found only the soft skin of her belly.

"Lucy," Aslan said loudly.

"Yes, Aslan?" the young queen said, obviously standing right outside the tent.

"Come inside. The lady Enna requires your assistance."

Lucy twitched the tent flap aside, and her little round face went slack in astonishment. "Enna! You're—you're—"

"She is restored," said Aslan. "Help her, young Lucy, rise up from the sickbed. Help her wash—help her dress—and bring her to me when she is ready to your satisfaction."

"Aye, Aslan," Lucy squealed, clasping her hands under her chin. "Katla! Bring that hot water here immediately, and help me ready a bath!"

"I expect your amenability, Daughter of Eve," Aslan said in a low voice to Enna, who shrank back from his knowing gaze.

"A—aye, sir lion," she whispered.

He watched her for a moment more, then turned and exited the tent, leaving Lucy to rush forward and fling her arms around Enna's neck, overflowing with joy. Enna stood up from the bed for the first time in many long days, her knees wobbling, but the moment she set foot in the steaming bathwater, her muscles relaxed and she smiled. Weeks' worth of dirt lifted off her skin and dripped out of her hair as she scrubbed carefully, Lucy happily digging through long-forgotten satchels for something decent that Enna could wear.

At long last, clean, well dressed, and full of hot oatmeal, Enna was ready to face the Lion. Lucy tagging at her heels, she pushed the tent flap aside and felt the warm glow of sun on her face. Aslan paced nearby, his long tail brushing the ground. When he saw her, he wordlessly began climbing a gradual hillock, and Enna glanced once at Lucy before following him.

Soon, they were out of earshot of the camp noises below, only the warm breeze of April ruffling Enna's skirts and making a sound. "Long I have wanted to speak with you, Daughter of Eve," Aslan said.

Enna clasped her hands in front of her. "I have been with the army all these months."

"And yet you took no notice of me as I passed right under your nose."

"No notice!" This made Enna's hackles rise—who had taken no notice of _them_? "No notice, sir Lion? I never saw you, not once!"

"That is my point exactly," Aslan growled.

"How can I take notice of you when I cannot _see_ you?"

"You did not _look_ for my presence, ill-mannered young woman."

"I mean no offense, Aslan, but if I cannot see you, how may I know you are there?"

"You failed in your responsibilities," he replied gravely. "When your obedience left, so also did your perception."

Enna scoffed in disbelief. "You could have sought _me_ out—where were _you_? Where were you when the harbor burnt? When Galma streamed onto Narnia's shores and took to her river? Or when my uncle maltreated my mother? Where were you when Galma descended upon us and took me hostage? When the captain beat Aramir—or when good Lord Lorendo was killed in the fray? Where were you when I _gave my life_ for Aramir's_?_"

"Where was I? _Where was I?_" Aslan's voice dipped briefly into a terrifying snarl, his lips drawing back over sharp teeth. Enna took a step back.

"Tell me, mortal woman—where were _you_ when I laid the foundations of the earth, and measured it breadth by breadth? Have you seen the wellsprings of the oceans? Or walked in their hiddenmost depths? Have you seen the gates of death, Daughter of Eve? Tell me. Where does light abide? And where does darkness make its home? Surely, you know, for you have lived so many years! Who directs the raging storms, gives a path to the tempests, to water a land where no man lives, to satisfy a desolate wasteland and make it sprout with grass? Can you bring forth the constellations in their seasons? Do you know the laws of the heavens? Do you send the lightning bolts on their way?

"Tell me, Daughter of Eve," Aslan growled. "Where were _you_ when I touched the arms of Galma's archers so that the burning arrows fell only where you and your people could reach? Was it you that lowered the waves of the River so that their swift boats foundered in the shallows? Or did you stay your uncle's hand so that your mother might live to see her daughter a final time? Where were you when I showed Peter the way to Galma's hiding place? Or scratched at the heels of the tarrying army? Where were you when I loosened your bonds and used _your_ life to save that of _another_?"

Enna's knees buckled and she fell to the ground, staring up at Aslan's fierce golden eyes. "I…I…"

"I was the cat that led you to Galma's encampment," Aslan said slowly. "Had I not, they would have crossed the River and taken Beruna…and the war lost. What say you to that?"

She shook her head. "So you…you are guiding this war?"

"I am."

"And…despite all that I have done against you…"

"I will always defend my people," Aslan said, his voice low and suddenly almost kind. "Despite the sins of her rulers."

"'Rulers'?" Enna looked up. "What have Lucy and Edmund and Peter done?"

"The two youngest have done nothing. But you and Peter…"

Enna, suddenly realizing the full implication of her actions, looked down.

The soft breeze ruffled Aslan's mane. "I warned you, Daughter of Eve, not long ago, to rid yourself of Peter Pevensie. Did I not?"

"Aye," she whispered.

"You swore to uphold that promise, if all three of my prophecies came true. And did they?"

"Aye…"

"And yet you still disobeyed me. You are wretched in my sight, Daughter of Eve, for your sin repulses me."

"I'm sorry, Aslan—!" Enna burst out, running her trembling hands through her wild curls. "I…I did wrong by him, and I know it. But—but I...I worry so about my fate, and I thought that if I could connect myself to him, I would be safe…" She shook her head weakly, tears splattering into the grass. "I am but a sea rat. Nothing more."

"Nay!" Aslan said, his sinewy tail twitching in a very cat-like way. "You are a Daughter of Eve, and no puppet to fate. Have I taught you ill? Fate is nothing! As you put it those long months ago, perhaps your entire life was meant to grace another's. Having choices, as people in _your_ world understand them, creates more doubt in disorder than not being able to choose. Wouldn't you say?"

Enna sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand as she nodded. "But what about Peter? I am…I am so unhappy, wed to him. And I do not think he loves me as dearly as he says."

"How can he?" Aslan asked. "I did not condone your union—it is impossible for him to refute my will."

"What shall I do?" Enna said, sopping at her eyes.

"You must retain your maidenhood, first and foremost," Aslan replied, his voice softening. "Though I did not allow the marriage, you have not shared a wedding bed with the high king, and so are bound only in name. I wish for you and Peter to maintain that legal bond, for the time being, for there is much work now to be done."

"Aye, Aslan," she whispered.

"There, there." His great, tawny head lowered to hers, and, to her surprise, his sweet-smelling mane dried the tears on her cheeks. "It is easy to trespass, but it is also easy to be forgiven."

She took a deep breath. "Then…all is forgotten?"

"Hardly forgotten. I have forgiven you, but I will not remove the consequences of your actions from you—they yet must be dealt with."

"Then what must I do?"

A pleased rumble sounded in the great lion's throat. "Your pride will haunt your footsteps, Enna, for all your life, but, with time, you will learn to overcome it. Begin by humbling yourself before your kings and queen. They shall take instruction from me, in due time, and pass it on to you—it is your duty to obey modestly."

Enna cringed at the idea, but she tried to hide the reaction. "Aye. And…what will you tell Peter? About the marriage?"

"That is not for you to know," Aslan chuckled. "I have told you your story...but will tell none other's."

A sharp shriek rose up from the valley, and Enna turned to look. Over the faraway rise, an eagle held poised on an updraft, wings spread wide, as a trumpet echoed. "That will be the kings and their host," Aslan said.

Enna shielded her eyes and smiled slightly as the scarlet banners crested the hill. "Aye."

"Very well, then. You and I are finished here, for the time being. Go and greet your husband. But be ready, Enna," he added as she made a move to leave. "You will not spend another night in his company. Tonight, this very day, I expect my orders to be carried out."

"What do you mean?" she asked, quite puzzled.

"You will know in time. Go and receive them, and send Peter up to me."

"Aye, Aslan."

He nodded, and Enna went away down the hill, the soft breeze tossing her plait over her shoulder. As much as she was reluctant to admit it, she _had_ missed Aramir and Edmund and Peter, and her feet carried her swiftly over the spring grass just as the host's horses thundered towards the camp.

Lucy was already waiting at the entrance, her long brown hair flowing out over her shoulders and her round face aglow. "I am so glad they are come, Enna!" she cried, catching the older girl's hand and dragging her along to meet the approaching contingent

"Not so fast, Lucy," Enna laughed, lifting her skirts with her other hand and tripping along behind her.

Peter and Edmund, riding at the front, reined their horses in abruptly when they caught sight of their sister, and Peter flung himself from the saddle. _"Enna!_"

"Hello, Peter!"

"You're—you're—you're _healed_!"

"Aye! Aslan is come."

"Oh, Aslan…" He reached out to take her in his arms, but Enna shook her head.

"He wishes to see you."

Peter looked at her, understanding dawning in his blue eyes. "Oh. I see."

"I'm sorry…"

"No, no, it's not your fault." He sighed and drew a hand across his sweaty brow. "I knew I would have to stand before him someday."

"I'll take your horse in for you."

"I'd be much obliged. Thank you."

Enna nodded and took the beast's reins, and Peter went off, walking with a manner as if he were a man doomed to the gallows, but proud of his misdeed. Lucy, meanwhile, had caught Edmund in a vise-like embrace, gushing on and on about how brave Enna had been and how particularly majestic Aslan looked!

"Lucy—can't breathe—" Edmund managed.

She released him without batting an eyelash. _"Aramir_!"

Enna strained to look where the young queen was running, but Edmund had extended a hand to her instead. "Welcome back, Enna," he said grudgingly.

Unsure of what she was expected to do with the hand, she quickly squeezed his fingers and smiled. "Thank you. I heard what you did…back in the last battle."

"Oh, it was nothing," the young man muttered. "Scoundrel got away, anyhow."

"It was noble, nevertheless. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Enna!"

She and Edmund looked over to see Lucy dragging Aramir by the hand, her cheeks rosy with delight. "Enna, Aramir is back!"

Edmund looked a little bored with this observation, but Enna smiled, partly because she knew just why Lucy was so pleased, and partly because that life which she had almost given up hers for had grown proportionately dearer to her heart. "So I see. How do you feel, Aramir?"

"I should be asking you that," he replied, grinning.

They clasped hands briefly, a slew of communication passing through their fingers but going unsaid. "I am well—very well."

"I have heard Aslan is here."

"He is!" Lucy exclaimed. "Oh, he is, he is, he is! You all must come and rest and eat, so you can meet him at your best."

And so the tired Narnians came back into the small camp and began to reconstruct their fraction, and the _joie de vivre_ that had been missing during their absence quickly returned. It was not long before Aslan summoned Lucy and Edmund to join their brother in conference with him, and during this lull in activity, Enna told Aramir almost all that had happened.

"So Aslan will have you leave?" Aramir asked.

"I gather as much. He said that I would not spend another night in Pe—in Narnia's company. I will have 'orders' to fulfill, I think."

"Do you know what they are?"

"No."

Aramir sighed in thought, taking a hearty swig from a flask of water. "I can only imagine what Aslan desires we do next. The Galmanians crossed the border late last week into Archenland—we cannot pursue them fast enough with our main strength."

"They are in Archenland, now?" Enna said in surprise. "Whatever do they want there?"

"One can only guess, I suppose."

"Oh, dear."

"Aye."

The conversation lulled, and soon, Peter, Edmund, Lucy and Aslan came down from the hill and entered the camp. It was easy to tell where Aslan was at every moment, for wherever there was reverent silence, there he was. He passed through the open space where Enna, Aramir, and several other Narnians were seated, and touched Aramir's cheek with his tongue as he passed by.

Enna was about to comment on Aramir's radiant face, but Peter got her attention before she could. "Peter calls for us," she told him.

Together, they stood up and went to the royal tent, wherein Peter stood at his cartography table. "Ah, thank you for coming," he said. "There's much to discuss."

Enna looked at the maps he had unrolled. "Aramir tells me my uncle has gone south, to Archenland. Does this meeting concern it?"

"Aye, very much so," Peter replied.

She nodded. "I see."

"Come and study these maps with me," he said, motioning Aramir over, too. They looked obediently over his shoulders. "Do you see this pebble?"

"Aye."

"That is the Narnian camp, where we are now."

"Of course."

"And do you see this castle?"

"Aye."

"That is the royal city of Anvard, the capital of Archenland."

"I see."

"Here are the Archen Mountains. This pass here"—Peter traced a narrow gap in the long mountain range—"is through which Galma invaded Archenland. They have fractioned their army, Enna—one third of it is drilling straight through the Archen Mountains toward Anvard. One third of it is headed across the Archen River, and will cross into Archenland through the far western hills of the Mountains. The other third is headed northwest, higher up and deeper into Narnia."

"Their strength is diminished," Enna noted. "But they are also spreading out. Why is that?"

"We think that it is because they either desire allies in southern countries," Peter replied, "or they are simply hoping to diminish _our_ main force, as well."

"What are we to do, then?"

Peter sighed. "This is where you and Aramir come in. I suppose Aslan has spoken to you, Enna, about your duties?"

"He told me I had some, but that is all."

"Very well, then. I have been commanded to lead my main strength against the Galmanian forces still in Narnia. Another fraction of our army will follow the Galmanians crossing the Archen. And another, smaller, fraction will be sent ahead to Anvard, to warn King Lune to refuse any Galmanian advances."

"Aye. Where do we assist?"

"In the latter," Peter said. "You and Aramir, along with my brother and sister and a contingent of forty or so Narnians, will go to Anvard and argue on our behalf."

Enna blanched. "But, Peter—I've never been to Archenland. I don't—what if—"

"They are Sons of Adam, as well," Peter said gently. "You will not be out of place. King Lune is a good man, recently ascended the throne. His son, Prince Corin, is scarcely ten years old, and is a boisterous young fellow. I daresay His Majesty will be unfazed by anything even _you_ can pull."

Aramir chuckled, and Enna managed a weak giggle. _Archenland_! That was so far away! And yet…the fate of an alliance, and therefore a kingdom, was being given to her, and her heart began to pound wildly with anticipation. This could prove exciting. "When shall we leave, Peter?"

"No later than this afternoon," he replied. "I wish to head off any more conflict that might arise from our idleness."

"Aye."

"So, Aramir," the high king went on. "My brother and sister have begun readying their persons and people for the journey—I suggest you do the same."

"Aye, Your Majesty." Aramir bowed and left the tent.

Peter sighed, looking at Enna from across the table. "Did Aslan express his displeasure with us to you, as well?"

"Aye," she admitted, looking at her feet.

"I might have expected it."

"I, too."

He rapped on the table. "Well, Enna…perhaps, after this is all over, we can begin again."

"Perhaps."

"When the war is won, and we all return to Cair Paravel…perhaps we may learn to love each other better than we could on the campaign trail."

"Aye, Peter. Perhaps then."

He came around the table and took her hand. "It is farewell, then."

She squeezed his, smiling sadly up at him. "I will miss you, you know."

"And I you."

"I promise to take care of your brother and sister."

Peter chuckled. "Edmund, I do not worry about. I have doubts that you will find it easy to control Lucy, however."

"Since when have I been able to?" Enna laughed.

"Never! And I should not be surprised if you try your whole life and are still unsuccessful."

"Nevertheless," Enna said. "I will try."

Peter smiled and kissed her hand. "I have faith in you."

"Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye."

He released her hand, and she smiled once last time, and then turned her back on him and walking out of the tent into the sunshine.

**The End**

**--**

_A/N: OMGOSH WE FINISHED!!!! AHHHH! But wait! There's an epilogue! :D (This means that if you haven't voted in our Wufoo poll yet, now's your last chance!) Stay tuned for the conclusion of "Sea Rat"…_


	47. Epilogue

The thin, scraggly-bearded soldier stood on the banks of the rushing Archen River. Spray from the rapidly flowing water splashed up on his armor, darkening the dusty leather, but he did not move away from spray. He spread his arms wide, welcoming the sensation and the cool dampness, relishing the feelings as he closed his eyes. _When I have this country,_ he thought, _I shall harness this river and make it my own._

"My lord duke?"

He turned at the sound of his name, an angered flush blossoming on his hollow cheeks. "What is so important that you interrupt my concentration?"

"My sincerest apologies, my lord duke and wise commander!" said the other soldier, prostrating himself on the muddy grass.

He sighed. "Get yourself up. What is it you feel a need to tell me?"

The soldier got to his feet, cringing. "Captain Minodaurus wishes to know when my lord duke desires to cross into Archenland. What do you command me tell him?"

Turning back to the rushing water, Sabsestrin sighed and closed his eyes again, listening to the splash of pebbles and twigs being tossed about in the currents. "Without delay."

"Aye, my lord duke and wise commander."

The soldier left, and Sabsestrin was left to himself again. _That little minx will soon learn,_ he thought, his dark eyes opening a slit. _ When you pull a dragon's tail, it will inevitably bite off your head._

To Be Continued…

--

_A/N: The End—at last.. :D Thanks so much for reading, guys—if you want to know the extent of my appreciation, click the link at the top of our profile! _

_And be keeping an eye out for "Sea Rat"'s sequel: "Taming the Tides"! :D_

_**Edit (02/20/09): "Taming the Tide" is now officially up! Check it out!**_


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